Learning Curve
by dS-Tiff
Summary: A rookie cop causes trouble for RayK during her first week on the job. Will she prove herself worthy of the uniform when they have a homicide to solve?
1. Chapter 1

_**This story is set during Season 4 of due South. I hope you enjoy it. All feedback is appreciated.**_

CHAPTER 1.

"No, Fraser, it is not a good morning!" Ray Kowalski sat at his desk staring at the open file on front of him. The nameplate bearing his undercover name – Detective Ray Vecchio – was half buried under paperwork and the early morning sun was glaring off his computer screen, causing him to squint as he looked up at his best friend, Constable Benton Fraser.

Diefenbaker, Fraser's half-wolf, put his front paws on Ray's desk looking for doughnuts, but he was left disappointed.

Fraser had walked into the squad room at the station and greeted everyone with his usual, cheerful greeting. Ray was rarely cheerful at this hour of the day, but it seemed that something had put him in a particularly bad mood this morning.

"Is something wrong?" asked Fraser with concern.

Ray sighed. "Sorry, buddy," he replied, blowing across the top of his steaming mug of extra strong, extra sweet coffee. "I tried to call ya at the Consulate, but you'd already left. I had a weird chat with Turnbull instead about, er, actually I have no idea what he was talkin' about."

"Ah," said Fraser. He knew Ray often found Constable Turnbull quite irritating and understandably so. The young Mountie frequently stretched Fraser's own patience to the limit. "You know, Ray, perhaps if you spent more time with him you two may learn to get along?" he suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," agreed Ray, much to Fraser's surprise. "Ask him if he wants hang out at my apartment on Saturday night and, er, watch the ball game with us," he continued, the sarcasm more evident in his voice now.

"Really?" Fraser wasn't convinced.

"Fraser, I was kidding," explained Ray, dryly.

"Ah."

"Anyway, I wanted to catch ya before ya left this mornin' to tell ya not to bother coming all the way over here," Ray explained. "I've gotta take a raincheck on our visit to David Treebeck. Something's come up."

"Oh dear," replied Fraser. "Well, the Austin case is all but closed. Treebeck's statement can wait. Is there something else I can help you with today?"

Ray shook his head. "Nope, I've gotta do this on my own. Welsh's orders," he explained. "I'm babysitting."

"Babysitting?" queried Fraser.

"Yeah," confirmed Ray. "All week." He handed a puzzled Fraser the file he'd been looking at. "Her name's Frankie Mallion," explained Ray. "She's a rookie, straight outta the Academy."

Fraser scanned down the file and was impressed with what he saw. "She has some glowing reports here from the tutors," he noted. "All of this suggests she will make a fine addition to the Chicago Police Department."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, a real shining star," he agreed. "Unlike me, I barely scraped through."

Fraser frowned. He'd read Ray's personnel file and he knew that wasn't true. Ray may not have been top of his class, but he had graduated from the Academy with some good grades and very positive comments from some of the tutors. Fraser wished his friend wouldn't be so dismissive of his own abilities.

"Andy Dearman was gonna be her TO, but he's outta action for at least a month since he smashed his leg up," explained Ray.

"Of course," acknowledged Fraser. "He was lucky to survive that incident with the ice cream truck." Everyone at the Two Seven had heard about Officer Dearman's accident. "So you've been assigned as Officer Mallion's temporary Training Officer I take it."

"Yep," nodded Ray. "Lucky her, huh. I mean, what can I teach a rookie? She's gotta learn how to do things by the book, right? I can't even remember what it says in the book!"

"Ray, you're an excellent police officer," began Fraser, reassuringly. "Officer Mallion will gain valuable experience from riding with you for a week."

"That's bull, Fraser," retorted Ray. "This is the dumbest idea Welsh has ever had. Someone else should do this. I'm not a teacher."

Before Fraser had a chance to berate his friend for putting himself down again, the door to Lieutenant Welsh's office opened and Welsh stepped out with a young woman at his side. She was dressed in her brand new uniform with shiny brass buttons and even shinier black shoes. Her shoulder length brown hair was scraped back off her face with a clip and her green eyes shone with enthusiasm.

"She's all yours, Vecchio," said Welsh and went back into his office.

"Greatness," said Ray, forcing a smile onto his face. "Oh, er, Frankie Mallion, this is Fraser." Ray nodded in the direction of his friend.

Frankie drew a sharp breath when she saw Fraser standing in front of her in his red serge, his hat tucked under his arm. "You're the Mountie," she said, immediately kicking herself for stating the obvious. She'd heard so much about him at the Academy, but nothing she'd heard had prepared her for seeing him in the flesh. She stared hard at him, taking in every inch of his magnificence.

"Very pleased to meet you," smiled Fraser.

"Oh, er, er…" Frankie stammered. This wasn't like her at all; she couldn't understand what had just happened. She gave her head a tiny shake, hoping she would come to her senses and it seemed to do the trick. "Hi," she said, eventually, her voice sounding less high pitched now, much to her relief. "I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous today."

"It's quite understandable," replied Fraser, the warmth in his voice putting Frankie even more at ease now. "I remember my first day on the job," continued Fraser. "We'd had a report of…"

"OK, let's go," Ray interrupted his friend before this turned into a long and boring story involving snowmobiles, polar bears, or Fraser dangling over a cliff.

"Of course, my apologies," acknowledged Fraser. "Please don't let me delay you."

"I'm sorry I'm stealing your partner this week," said Frankie, sheepishly.

"It's alright," Fraser reassured her. "I have plenty of Consular work to keep me busy.

Frankie hesitated as she watched Ray walking towards the door, throwing his gun holster around his shoulders as he walked. She checked her own weapon was still strapped to her side, glanced at the badge she proudly wore on her chest and started to follow him.

"See ya later, buddy," Ray called out as he left the squad room waving a hand in the air and Fraser waved back.

Frankie stopped and turned back to Fraser. She hadn't expected to feel this scared. This was all she'd ever wanted and now the time was finally here she was terrified. Her mind went blank; for a moment she couldn't remember anything she'd learnt at the Academy at all. Part of her wanted to run and hide, but as the adrenaline started to pump around her body, everything came flooding back and she realised this was the proudest moment of her life. "I guess this is it," she said, grinning at Fraser with anticipation. "Day one."

Fraser nodded. "Good luck," he said and she ran out of the door after Ray.

XxXxXx

Fraser spent an hour at the station tidying Ray's desk. He only found one piece of important uncatalogued evidence hidden under a pile of pizza menus this time which was an improvement on the last time he'd done this task, so he headed back to the Consulate with a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done.

Turnbull opened the heavy wooden door of the Canadian Consulate building just as Fraser and Dief were walking up the path. "Did you speak with Detective Vecchio?" asked Turnbull, anxiously. "He telephoned here soon after you'd left. To be honest with you, Sir, I'm not sure what he wanted."

Fraser rolled his eyes. Why Ray and Turnbull had so much trouble communicating with each other he would never know.

"It's alright, Constable," Fraser reassured him. "I spoke with him at the station."

Turnbull was relieved. "If it's alright with you, Sir, I'll head over to the Italian Consulate now. As you are aware, Inspector Thatcher has requested that I liaise with the Italian Ambassador regarding the trade exchange." Turnbull stood tall and proud as he spoke; it was rare for the Inspector to trust him with such important matters. "I'll be taking the car," he added.

Fraser had been pleased to hear that Turnbull had been given this responsibility. He was fully aware that Inspector Thatcher had a rather delicate personal history with the Ambassador and therefore wanted to avoid him at all costs, otherwise she would probably have dealt with the trade negotiations herself, but the young Mountie didn't need to know that. Consequently, the Inspector had got herself onto an international committee discussing the streamlining of visa processing which was taking up a lot of her time at the moment.

"And how is your Italian coming along?" asked Fraser. Turnbull had been trying to learn the language with varying degrees of success.

"Not as well as I'd hoped," admitted Turnbull, looking at the floor with embarrassment. He usually had a flair for languages, but this one was proving a problem. "But I'll persevere."

Fraser nodded. "Arrivederci, Constable," he said.

"Arrivederci," replied Turnbull and he left.

Fraser looked at Dief. "Oh well," he said. "I hope you have enough to keep you occupied today, I have things that need my attention."

Dief growled.

"I wouldn't exactly use the word boring," Fraser scolded him. "The work we do here at the Canadian Consulate, while maybe not as exciting as liaising with the Chicago PD, is nonetheless just as important."

Dief barked.

"Alright, alright…mundane, perhaps," conceded Fraser and walked into his office.

A couple of hours and several hundred signed forms later, Fraser was about to find Diefenbaker some lunch, when he heard the front door crash open.

"Fraser! Fraser!"

It was Ray's voice.

Fraser leapt to his feet and ran out into the hallway with Dief at his heels. He was shocked when he saw Ray and Frankie standing there. Frankie had one arm draped around Ray's shoulder and blood was running down the side of her face from a nasty gash on her temple.

She was having trouble supporting her own weight and Fraser raced forward to assist. "Help me lay her on the couch," he instructed as they walked into the reception room and Ray swung her legs around as Fraser propped her head up with a cushion. "What happened?" he asked urgently.

"Don't ask," spat Ray, angrily. "We were two blocks away; I thought I'd bring her straight here."

Fraser was shocked by the animosity in Ray's voice, but for now his priority was Frankie. "Frankie, can you hear me?" he asked, anxiously checking her for signs of concussion. Fortunately he found nothing to be concerned about.

"I'm fine," replied Frankie, although she sounded anything but fine.

Ray grabbed the first aid kit from the shelf and handed it to Fraser who quickly unpacked some cotton and gauze and starting cleaning the blood from her head wound.

"Looks like you had a run in with a wall," stated Fraser as he examined the injury. "Standard Class A engineering bricks, unless I'm very much mistaken."

"What the hell were you thinking?" yelled Ray, suddenly.

"Ray!" Fraser scolded. Frankie was badly hurt; surely this could wait?

Ray let out a growl of frustration and turned away, running his fingers roughly through his spiky hair. "OK," he said, his voice a little calmer now. "I'm gonna wait in your office, Fraser. Just, er, just fix her up," and he stormed out of the room.

Fraser turned back to Frankie whose bottom lip was quivering as she tried not to break down. She seemed like a different person to the enthusiastic, confident young rookie he'd met just a few hours earlier.

"It's alright," he said gently. "Ray will calm down. We'll talk about whatever happened later."

"Detective Vecchio has every right to be mad at me," replied Frankie. "I screwed up. Big time." She couldn't hold back her tears any longer.

"Here," said Fraser, handing her a handkerchief so that she could dry her eyes. He couldn't imagine what Frankie could possibly have done to make Ray so angry with her. He continued cleaning and bandaging her head. It was a nasty cut, but not one that warranted stitches, fortunately.

Frankie lay still and let Fraser tend to her. She didn't even flinch when he washed out the wound with antiseptic. He warned her that it might sting and he was right, but she felt she deserved the pain. She'd let herself down, she'd let her parents down, her new TO and every one of her tutors at the Academy too, all within her first few hours as a police officer. That's how she felt, anyway.

"There, all done," said Fraser, finally. "How do you feel?"

Frankie shrugged.

"Physically," Fraser clarified.

"Headache," she replied.

That was hardly surprising, thought Fraser. "If it gets worse, let me know," he said and she nodded.

Fraser took a deep breath and glanced towards the door. He wanted to find out what had happened, but considering the mood Ray was in he wanted Frankie's side of the story first.

Fortunately it seemed she could read his face; not everyone could do that. "I saw…" she began, "at least, I thought I saw someone. Detective Vecchio was getting coffee; I didn't think I had time to wait so I went in on my own."

"Who did you see?" asked Fraser.

"John Harrison Merrick," replied Frankie. "He's on the FBI Most Wanted list."

Fraser nodded. "Indeed he is," he agreed. "He's wanted for a string of violent murders across twenty three states."

"It wasn't him," stated Frankie. "At least, I'm pretty sure now that it wasn't him. I studied the list; I figured it was important that I was familiar with it. I guess the names and faces got stuck in my head."

"That's very conscientious," noted Fraser. "Are you sure it wasn't him?"

Frankie shrugged. "I was waiting in the car," she explained, "and I saw this guy. He was acting suspiciously so I observed him for a few minutes. I thought he was going to steal a purse; he was hanging around outside a street café."

Fraser smiled. Not many rookies would have been so observant. "What did you do?" he prompted.

"I got out of the car," she continued. "I looked around, but I couldn't see Detective Vecchio. I thought if I waited too long it would be too late so I crossed the street. I figured that if the guy saw a cop he'd change his mind about stealing the purse. Most purse snatchers are opportunist criminals."

"That's true," agreed Fraser, admiring her knowledge.

"I called out to him and he turned around and that's when I saw his face," explained Frankie. "He looked directly at me and I recognised him instantly. I mean, he has like a goatee now, but I was sure it was him. I think he knew I'd made him and he ran, so I ran after him."

Fraser nodded slowly. He could see why Ray was so displeased. Frankie was a rookie cop on her first day, but she'd gone after a man who she believed was a highly dangerous criminal on her own without backup. Her instincts were second to none, but they had overtaken all of her training.

"I assume you caught up with him," asked Fraser.

Frankie nodded. "He stumbled over some trash and the next thing I knew I was standing over him with my gun in my hand," she said. "I don't really remember anything else. It's a bit of a blur. I just remember being slumped against the wall and Detective Vecchio's voice calling my name."

"You know you should have alerted Detective Vecchio before pursuing the man," Fraser pointed out.

"I know," replied Frankie with a sigh, "but it all happened so quickly. I made a stupid, rookie mistake." She hung her head and sniffed.

"Well, you are a rookie," Fraser pointed out with half a smile. "The important thing is that you know what you did wrong. Stay here and rest; I'll go and speak to Ray."

"He's not going to want to work with me anymore is he," sighed Frankie. "He's going to report me to Lieutenant Welsh and then I'll probably lose my badge," she added. "It's what I deserve."

Fraser shook his head. "Ray's bark is far worse than his bite, you know," he said. "Just give me a little while."

Frankie lay on the couch trying to ignore the pounding in her head. She and Ray had been getting on quite well for most of the morning. She admired his honesty; it was refreshing after some of the sanctimonious types she'd encountered at the Academy. Now she'd screwed everything up, he was never going to respect her and why should he? She began to wonder why she'd ever thought she could be a cop in the first place.

Fraser found Ray in his office, lying on the camp bed the Mountie slept on while he was living there.

"Is she OK?" asked Ray.

"Yes," replied Fraser. "What about you?" he added, gingerly.

Ray sighed deeply. "I'm sorry I yelled at her," he said. "But she scared the hell outta me."

Fraser nodded. "She told me what happened."

Ray swung his legs over the side and sat up. "Maybe you could fill me in?" he asked. "All I know is, er, is I went to use the can in the coffee house and when I came out there was all this screamin' and shouting outside. Some lady said a cop had gone chasing after some guy with a gun."

"She initially thought the man in question was a potential purse snatcher, although she now believes he may have been John Harrison Merrick," explained Fraser. "He's on the FBI Most Wanted list," he added when he was met with a blank look from Ray.

"Oh," said Ray, desperately trying to recall the name. "Well I don't care if she thought he was Elvis, she could have gotten herself killed, Fraser. On her first day. That would just be greatness, wouldn't it? I'm responsible for a rookie for one morning and I get her killed."

Fraser suddenly realised exactly what had got Ray so worked up. He was blaming himself for what had happened. Fraser perched on the edge of his desk. "You know, Ray, Frankie is taking full responsibility for her actions," he said.

"Is that what I would have said to her folks?" asked Ray, sarcastically. "Y'know, when I went knocking on their door to tell 'em their daughter was dead," he continued, spreading his hands out in front of him - palms upwards - for emphasis. "Sorry for your loss, Mr and Mrs Mallion, but it was her own stupid fault. D'ya think that would have been OK, Fraser?"

Fraser paused. "Ray, she knows what she did was wrong," he said. "But she had her reasons and they were good reasons. Her instincts are impeccable. I would have thought you of all people could acknowledge that."

"It's her first day," repeated Ray, slowly, as if Fraser hadn't fully understood. He closed his eyes. "OK, I'd better go talk to her," he said and stood up slowly; it felt as though every bone in his body ached.

"I'll make some tea," said Fraser. "Ray," he added, "this wasn't your fault."

Fraser walked back along the hall a few minutes later carrying three mugs of tea. As he approached the reception room he was relieved to hear the sound of laughter. He paused outside the door and listened.

"OK, so next time ya wanna play Robocop, what are ya gonna do?" asked Ray.

"Come and find you first," replied Frankie.

"Right," said Ray, with a smile. "For this week and this week only, you have me as a partner and that means I'm not gonna let you outta my sight. Got it?"

"Got it," agreed Frankie.

"I'm responsible for you out there," continued Ray. "If anything had happened to you while you were on my watch…" he trailed off. He knew Frankie understood.

"I'm sorry I put you in that position, Sir," she replied, hanging her head. Then she looked up at him and a tiny smirk danced at her lips. "But I'm not coming with you to the bathroom," she added.

"Deal," agreed Ray with a grin. "And quit calling me 'Sir', OK? I go by Ray."

Frankie nodded and smiled.

Then Ray became serious again. "Look, ya never know what you're walking into. You've gotta trust your partner; your partner has your back and you have his, all the time. That's how it works; like me and Fraser. Even if that guy was just a, er, a purse snatcher he could have had a gun. Cop Rule 101 – never go it alone."

"I'm know, I know," said Frankie, still angry at herself. "I just didn't want him to get away."

"Sometimes they get away," replied Ray, solemnly. "Cop Rule 102 – you can't stop all the bad guys all the time. It sucks, but that's how it is. Best you can do is to try to get through the day alive."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2.

The next morning, Fraser was surprised to see Ray back at the Consulate. "I just thought, maybe, er, ya wanted to ride with us today," suggested Ray, hopefully.

"I thought Lieutenant Welsh's instructions were that you act alone as Officer Mallion's Training Officer," replied Fraser.

"Yaah, well I won't tell him if you won't," grinned Ray. " So, are ya comin'?"

Fraser thought for a moment. He actually had a lot to do today. Turnbull had brought some complex documents back from the Italian Ambassador. They were written in English, but he had to translate them into French for submission to Head Office in Ottowa. He couldn't say no to Ray, though. His friend had clearly not had much sleep. "Of course," he replied. The translations would have to wait.

Ray breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been awake most of the night worrying. He'd been that close to walking into Welsh's office first thing this morning and telling him couldn't do it anymore and that he'd have to find someone else to take Frankie today, but at the last minute he'd changed his mind. He felt bad about the way he'd treated her yesterday. She wasn't stupid; she'd made a mistake and she'd paid a price and Ray knew she would never make the same mistake again. And Fraser had been right; her instincts were as sharp as any cop he'd ever worked with. All she needed was a little more experience and she'd wind up with an arrest record to put every other cop to shame. He couldn't let her down, not now, even though the responsibility was making him ill. That's when he'd had the idea of taking Fraser out with them too.

"Thanks, buddy," grinned Ray. "We were just gonna go back to Carlton's and follow up after that, er, armed robbery last week."

Fraser grabbed his hat and he and Dief followed Ray out to the car.

"Are you sure you're OK with this?" asked Ray, feeling suddenly guilty that he'd dragged his buddy away from his desk. "It's just…" he trailed off. "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I wanted to quit, but…"

"Ray, treat yesterday as a trial run," suggested Fraser. "You're both on a steep learning curve."

"You can say that again," replied Ray. "I have no idea what I'm doin', I've never been a TO before."

"And Frankie has never been a rookie cop before," Fraser pointed out. "She has the potential to be an excellent police officer. I'm sure she'll learn from her mistakes. We all make them."

Ray laughed. "Even you?" He'd made plenty of mistakes in his lifetime, but surely Fraser wasn't that D-U-M dumb?

Fraser stopped dead in his tracks and looked solemnly at Ray. "I've made some huge mistakes," he said, with a heavy sigh.

Ray winced. _Victoria; he's talking about that bitch who tried to kill him_. He wished he hadn't reminded his friend about that today.

"I just think I handled yesterday really badly," said Ray, getting back to the subject.

"You did fine," Fraser tried to reassure him. "You had a right to be angry with her; she put herself in danger."

"Maybe," he conceded as they walked to the car, "but I shouldn't have yelled."

"How is your head this morning?" Fraser asked Frankie who was waiting in the passenger seat.

"It's OK," she replied with a shrug. "My Mom went crazy when she saw it. I didn't tell her exactly what happened, though."

"Whilst I don't normally condone deceitfulness I think under the circumstances that it was probably for the best," agreed Fraser.

The manager of Carlton's Bistro, Gary Burnett, was outside his restaurant when they pulled up. They had recently suffered two robberies and he was keen to see the culprits caught.

"So, er, what've ya got to remember when you question a witness," said Ray, putting on his best teaching voice.

"Um, don't ask leading questions," replied Frankie.

"Right," nodded Ray with a smile.

"And write down everything they say even if it doesn't seem important at the time," she continued, "and observe their body language."

"Great," grinned Ray. _So far so good, _he thought_. _

They got out of the car and introduced themselves to Burnett.

Frankie took out her notebook as they walked through the restaurant towards the man's office and immediately started asking questions. Fraser couldn't help a small smile at her initiative. The interview went well and they left the office with some valuable information that would help with the investigation.

Suddenly they heard a commotion. One of the waiters came running towards them. "Mr Burnett, it's your wife again," he said urgently. "She's on the balcony; she's taken a baby this time!"

"What?" exclaimed Burnett. "Oh god, I was afraid she'd do something like this."

"What do you mean?" asked Fraser, urgently.

"We lost our daughter seven years ago, Emily," explained Burnett, sadly. "She was three months old; she died in her sleep. Gina has tried to take her own life four times since then, but these robberies have made her worse. "

Fraser and Ray glanced at each other. This was a desperate situation; Burnett's wife was clearly unstable and the baby was in grave danger. They ran through to the main dining area where they found a crowd had gathered at the window. A woman was screaming and trying to climb out, but she was being restrained by her friend. "She's got my baby!" the woman shouted.

"Please, stay back, ma'am," urged Ray, flashing his badge. "We'll get your baby back. Frankie…" he spun round to look for her, but she wasn't there. "Frankie!" he called out again. Then his blood ran cold as he realised where she was. He looked out of the window and saw her - Frankie had climbed out onto the balcony and was talking to Gina who was balancing precariously on the railings, holding the baby tightly in her arms.

"Fraser, she's done it again!" yelled Ray, throwing his hands in the air in despair.

Fraser had been at the other end of the room looking for another way onto the balcony. He came running over to join his partner. Ray went to climb out of the window too, but Fraser pulled him back. "Wait," he urged. He could hear the conversation going on out on the balcony; Frankie was starting to gain Gina's trust.

"Fraser, we've gotta get her back in here," hissed Ray. "You go out there; you're great at this kind of thing."

"Ray, she's a trained police officer, not a child," Fraser reminder him. "Let her do this. She knows what she's doing; she's saying all the right things."

Ray carefully peered out of the window to see Gina climbing back over the ledge. She still had the baby in her arms though. Ray quickly put on his glasses, drew his gun and aimed at Gina. "I've got a shot," he said. "I can take her out."

"No!" exclaimed the baby's mother and Ray lowered his gun with a sigh. She had a good point; he wasn't going to risk shooting a baby.

"I think I can get out there via the fire escape," announced Fraser. "Ray, monitor the situation. I suggest that if at any point you believe Frankie is losing control then go in." He glanced over his shoulder at the baby's hysterical mother, before adding, "Hopefully we can end this without bloodshed."

Fraser ran to the fire exit and Ray crouched down and crawled to the other side of the window. He could see Frankie now, but he'd lost his direct line of sight to Gina and the baby.

Out on the balcony Frankie was desperately trying to recall her training. They'd role played situations like this at the Academy, but real life felt completely different. One mistake and a woman and a baby could die.

"May I hold her?" Frankie asked with as much warmth in her voice as she could muster. "I love babies."

There was a pause and Ray held his breath.

"Please," urged Frankie.

"You're going to take her away, aren't you," replied Gina flatly. "You're going to take my baby away."

"No one wants to take your baby away," replied Frankie gently. "Why don't you come back inside," she added. "It's windy today; you don't want Emily to get cold."

_So, Gina Burnett thinks this baby is hers, the one that died,_ thought Ray. He felt desperately sorry for her, but until the baby was safely back in the arms of her real mother Gina was still a threat to the infant's life.

Frankie took a few steps towards Gina.

_Be careful,_ thought Ray. _Don't spook her. _

"Come inside," said Frankie. "It's alright," she added. "Everything's going to be OK." Ray watched as she stepped even closer, then out of the corner of his eye he spotted Fraser at the side of the balcony, just out of Gina's line of sight.

Gina allowed Frankie to touch her arm and the young rookie started to lead her slowly towards the window, talking supportively to her all the time. "Please can I hold Emily," asked Frankie again.

"OK," agreed Gina, "but only for a moment."

Frankie's heart was pounding as Gina stopped walking and looked lovingly down at the baby in her arms. _This is almost over,_ she realised. She wanted to reach out and snatch the baby to safety, but she didn't want to risk any harm coming to the child so she knew she had to let this play out. She'd spotted Fraser and felt reassured by his presence.

Frankie held out her arms, waiting for Gina to pass the baby to her, but then the older woman's face suddenly fell. "This isn't Emily?" she said, her expression a mixture of shock and confusion "Where's Emily? What have you done with her?"

"It's alright," replied Frankie, desperately trying to keep her calm. She glanced at Ray who was now on his feet, anticipating trouble. "Just give her to me, please," she begged.

"No!" exclaimed Gina and then in a flash it was all over. Frankie lunged forward and grabbed the baby just as Fraser leapt over the railings and Ray jumped out onto the balcony. Gina tried to run back to the ledge, but Ray and Fraser had her arms firmly in their grasp.

Frankie climbed back inside and handed the baby back to her grateful mother. "Thank you," the woman sobbed and held her baby tightly. Frankie smiled and let out a huge sigh of relief.

Frankie stood in the middle of the restaurant trying to take in what had just happened. It had all happened so fast. She turned to find Ray, but he had gone downstairs with Gina and her husband to wait for a squad car to come and take them to the station. Suddenly she realised Ray might be mad at her again. She'd rushed into a situation; acted on her instincts just like yesterday, but this was completely different to yesterday…wasn't it? Frankie sat down in a vacant chair and thought about what she could have done differently. If she'd waited any longer, Gina Burnett might have jumped off the balcony and taken the baby with her. She was sure she'd done the right thing this time...hadn't she? Her thoughts were interrupted by Fraser's voice.

"Good work out there," he said.

Frankie looked up at him and managed a half smile. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I mean, I didn't really know what to say to her, I was kinda making it up."

Fraser slowly scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "In my experience that's often the best way to do it," he replied. "You have to react and adapt to any given situation as it evolves. Your quick thinking saved lives today."

Frankie's smile grew wider. "Thanks," she said. "I just hope Ray agrees with you."

xXxXxXx

They dropped Fraser back at the Consulate on their way back to the Two Seven.

"You really didn't need me after all, did you," Fraser pointed out as Ray walked him to the door. "Frankie seemed to have everything under control."

Ray looked back over his shoulder at the car where Frankie was waiting for him and smiled. "I guess I need to remind her again about rushing into things without telling me what the plan is," he said, "but she did a great job today."

Fraser nodded.

"So now I'm gonna introduce her to the joys of paperwork," Ray continued. "She can write up Gina Burnett. I need to file a report about yesterday, too."

"What are you going to say?" asked Fraser.

Ray shrugged. "Dunno yet," he replied. "Probably not all of it. Welsh'd go nuts."

Fraser frowned. As a Mountie, the thought of falsifying, or even watering down the facts, in an official police report was abhorrent to him, but in this case he agreed with Ray's judgement. Ray could write the report in such a way as not to get Frankie into trouble.

Just then Turnbull opened the door. "Oh, buongiorno, Detective Vecchio," he beamed.

Ray sneered. Fraser had told him that Turnbull was trying to learn Italian. Ray had tried to learn himself when he first took the undercover role, as the real Ray Vecchio was Italian of course, but he had failed spectacularly. Ray struggled with English sometimes, so languages had never been his strong point. "Er, yeah," he replied. "Fraser, I'll call ya tomorrow."

Fraser followed Turnbull inside. "Come sta?" asked the younger Mountie, keen to try out his new skills.

Turnbull's accent sounded more Australian than Italian to Fraser, but it was good enough to be understood. "Sto bene, grazie," Fraser replied.

Turnbull looked puzzled.

"I said I'm fine," explained Fraser. "You asked me how I was."

"Oh, yes, of course," said Turnbull, embarrassed that he hadn't understood. "I, um, I might just go and listen to my language tapes again."

xXxXxXx

The next morning, Frankie sat at Ray's desk typing up reports. To her relief, Ray had been OK after the incident on the balcony. He'd told her that he was pleased with how she'd handled the situation and that had boosted Frankie's confidence enormously. She really wanted to show what she could do. Ray was late this morning though, but it gave her a chance to finish the reports.

Ray finally walked into the squad room at just after ten thirty. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Slept through my alarm."

"It's OK," smiled Frankie. "Here is my report from yesterday. I hope I haven't missed anything out."

Ray took the neatly typed pages from her and put them straight down on his desk. "Coffee," he said. "Can't read anything before coffee."

Frankie laughed. "I'll get you some," she said and went to the coffee machine.

Ray rubbed his eyes and tried to figure out what to do today. He had a mountain of paperwork to get through and seeing as Frankie seemed to enjoy it so much he was tempted to stay at the station and get her to do it for him. Then his conscience kicked in and he realised that would be unfair on the rookie. He'd get Fraser to do it for him tomorrow instead.

Frankie returned and placed a cup of coffee on the desk in front of him.

"Thanks," he grunted and opened his desk drawer to find something to sweeten it with.

"Where are we going today?" asked Frankie, screwing her face up in disgust as Ray threw a handful of candies into his cup.

"Er, not sure yet," admitted Ray.

"How about this?" Francesca Vecchio suddenly appeared at Ray's desk and waved a printout under his nose. "This just came in," she explained. "Possible domestic. Neighbours heard fighting and screaming and now no one's answering the door."

"OK," agreed Ray. "We'll take it. C'mon Frankie."

They drove to the apartment building and met a woman outside. "What've we got?" Ray asked her.

"It's the young girl in apartment fourteen," explained the woman as she led them up the stairs. "We heard shouting and screaming in the early hours, but that happens all the time so I ignored it. Then I realised I'd got some of her mail in my box by mistake. I knocked on her door to give it to her, but there was no answer. She hasn't left for work yet; her car's still in the parking lot."

"You say you've heard fighting before?" Frankie queried.

"Yes," nodded the woman as they reached the door to Apartment Fourteen. "She lives alone, though. Her sister used to live there too, but she's moved out now."

"Thank you, we'll take it from here," said Ray. He knocked loudly on the door. "Police!" he shouted. "Is everything OK in there?"

Nothing.

"This is the Police," Frankie called out, knocking on the door as she spoke. "Please open the door."

Still silence.

Ray looked at Frankie; this didn't feel right at all. "Does anyone else have a key?" he asked the neighbour.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I'll go and find Mrs Hirayama, she used to have spares," and she raced off down the hall.

Frankie glanced at Ray again. "Should we wait?" she asked.

Ray hesitated for a moment. Something was very wrong here; he could feel it and he knew Frankie felt the same. "No," he said looking seriously at Frankie. "OK, draw your weapon," he instructed, "remember your training and don't do anythin' stupid." Then he threw his weight against the door and it flew open.

Frankie's hands were shaking as she took her gun from its holster and slowly followed Ray inside the apartment. They had no idea what they were walking into. She felt sick and her breathing became shallow. _Calm down, Frankie, _she said to herself. This was real Police work. This was all she'd ever wanted and now it was really happening. She stayed close to Ray, looking around her for anything that moved.

"Chicago PD!" Ray called out again, hoping someone would answer, but no one did.

As soon as they got inside they could see something had definitely been going on. Books and papers were all over the place and plates and glasses lay smashed on the floor. They continued carefully trying not to disturb any potential evidence.

Eventually they got to the bedroom. Ray knew exactly what he was going to find; his gut instincts had told him that this was not going to end well. He glanced at Frankie and then slowly pushed open the door. His heart sank as the door swung open to reveal the naked body of a young woman draped across the bed.

Frankie gasped when she saw her. "Oh, jeez," she said. Her face was so badly bruised and swollen that Frankie doubted anyone would recognise her and her arms were hanging unnaturally behind her head.

"You OK?" asked Ray and Frankie nodded silently. "Call for back up," he said, passing Frankie his phone and he went over to confirm that the woman was definitely dead, not that there was much doubt.

xXxXxX

Soon the place was crawling with Police. The forensics team began sweeping the apartment for clues and the young Medical Examiner was crouching beside the body while his technician was taking photographs.

"Anything?" asked Ray, hopefully.

"She was beaten and strangled, time of death probably around two or three hours ago. That's all I can tell you for now," replied the ME. "We'll have to get her back to the morgue. Mort can take this one."

Ray nodded solemnly. He turned to find Frankie leaning against the doorframe, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go talk to the neighbours; someone must know somethin'." He was aware that the scene was very difficult for the young rookie to take in. _Hell, it's hard enough for me and I've seen enough murder scenes._

Frankie was relieved to be getting out of there. She'd always known that this would be a part of her job, but she hadn't expected to be discovering a murder victim on day three of her career.

"Um, so, ya got any questions?" Ray asked her as they pushed past the two officers who were now guarding the door to Apartment Fourteen.

Frankie shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she replied quietly. In truth she had a hundred questions for Ray, but her head was spinning and she couldn't seem to get them into any logical order, so she decided to leave the questions until later.

"Look, if ya wanna leave, it's OK," said Ray. "I'll get one of the guys to run you back to the station."

"No," said Frankie with determination in her voice. "I want to stay, I want to help," she said. She glanced back towards the apartment and tried to get the image of the dead woman out of her mind, but she couldn't.

Ray nodded; he understood exactly how she felt.

Most of the neighbours had come out of their apartments to see what was going on and Frankie got out her notebook and started asking questions. Ray let Frankie take the lead; she was really good at this, he realised, really thorough and methodical. It was almost like having Fraser at his side. _I just hope she doesn't start licking things._

Just then they heard raised voices coming from back along the hallway.

"No I'm sorry, you can't go in there!" It was one of the officers on the door of the dead woman's apartment.

"Get off me!" a woman yelled at him, wriggling her arm free of his grasp.

Frankie and Ray ran back to see what was going on, but they were too late to stop the woman who had sidestepped the guards and was now in the apartment.

"Hey, this is a crime scene!" Ray shouted.

"But I live here," replied the woman, weaving her way through the army of people in the apartment. "At least I used to," she added.

Frankie gasped. "The sister!" she said to Ray. "Please, don't go in there!" she begged the woman, but her pleas were ignored.

Ray and Frankie caught up with her a fraction of a second too late; the woman screamed as she saw the body of her sister lying on the bed.

Frankie hung her head. "I'm so sorry," she said. She quickly took the woman by the shoulders and gently led her away from the grisly scene.

A few minutes later Frankie placed a glass of water on the kitchen table. "Here," she said, "drink this."

The victim's sister – Caitlin – was sitting on a chair, barely holding herself together. She was trembling and biting her nails and breathing rapidly. Ray sat in the chair opposite, hoping that she could pull herself together enough to answer a few questions.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ray began and Caitlin acknowledged the sentiment. "I promise that we'll do everything we can to find out who killed your sister," he added.

Caitlin gulped down a mouthful of water and looked at him. "Half-sister," she corrected him in a shaky voice. Her next statement stunned Ray and Frankie. "And I already know exactly who killed her."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3.

"Here's all I have on our victim." Francesca Vecchio handed Ray a single piece of paper fresh from the printer. "Stacey Cassandra Walker. Twenty five years old, single, worked for a firm of stockbrokers. That's about it," summarised Francesca as Ray read the details for himself.

"And the boyfriend?" prompted Ray.

Francesca shook her head. "Without a surname it's kinda hard," she said, rolling her eyes. "I can't work miracles, Ray. I've sent a squad car to her workplace; maybe someone there knows him?"

"Thanks, Frannie," said Ray with an appreciative half-smile. "The sister's convinced he's the killer . We need to track him down."

"Is Frankie still in there with her?" asked Francesca.

"Yeah," replied Ray. "She wasn't up to answering questions. Frankie's tryin' to calm her down. I gave her some of Fraser's bark tea."

Francesca smiled knowingly and Ray nodded. Almost everyone at the Two Seven had tried Fraser's tea at one time or other. Ray would never admit it to Fraser of course, but sometimes, when things in his head got so bad that he felt like the only way out was to put a bullet through it, a nice cup of one of Fraser's herbal teas always somehow helped him put things in perspective_. I might need a cup myself this evening_, he thought.

Francesca went back to her desk to try some more contact numbers that Stacey's sister, Caitlin, had given her.

Ray looked up just in time to see the door swing open and Fraser walk into the squad room.

"Ray," the Mountie waved to his friend when he saw him sitting at his desk. "I wasn't sure if you'd be here or not, but I was, um, er, just passing so I thought I'd call in on the off chance."

"Just passin', huh?" queried Ray with a wink. The Mountie was a terrible liar. "Admit it, Fraser. Consular work sucks and you got so bored you figured you'd rather be here listenin' to one of Dewey's rants about, er, politics than fillin' out another form in triplicate."

"On the contrary, Ray," replied Fraser, indignantly. "I find the completion of official forms - in triplicate or otherwise - most satisfying."

"Freak," grinned Ray.

Fraser ignored the insult. Instead he let out a sigh. "The truth is, I couldn't stand another minute in Constable Turnbull's company," he admitted. "His futile attempts to learn the Italian language are enough to test the patience of a saint."

Ray let out a chuckle. Turnbull tested his patience most of the time.

"Did you say Turnbull is learning Italian?" Francesca had overheard - not surprising as she'd been hovering around Fraser since he'd arrived.

Fraser nodded. "Unfortunately, despite being fluent in French and having enough Inuktitut and Tsimshian to hold a reasonable conversation in either language, Italian is proving..." he paused to think of a suitable word that wasn't too insulting. "Problematic," was the one he eventually decided on.

"Oh, how romantic!" breathed Francesca, a smile spreading across her face. She and Turnbull had been on two dates so far – at least Francesca thought they were dates, with Turnbull it was difficult to tell – but as much as she had tried to look at the junior Mountie with romantic eyes, he was never going to match up to Fraser.

Fraser, however, appeared perpetually oblivious to her advances and Francesca was starting to realise that her attempts were always going to be in vain. Perhaps Turnbull wasn't such a bad second choice? He was a Mountie after all and he was kind and thoughtful and he even looked quite good in the uniform. Not as good as Fraser, of course, but not bad.

"Maybe I could help him?" she suggested. "I am bilateral, after all."

"I think you mean bilingual," Fraser pointed out. "And I'm sure Constable Turnbull would appreciate your assistance very much."

Francesca walked away, her mind spinning with possibilities.

"I'm glad you're here, buddy," said Ray, as his mind returned to the serious events of that morning. "Homicide." He handed his friend the scant few pages that so far made up the case file and explained everything.

"Oh no," said Fraser, shocked at the freshly developed photographs of the murder scene. "And how was Frankie?"

"She was good," replied Ray. "She didn't freak out and she, er, she held it together when we went to notify the victim's mother. She's with the sister now."

Just then, Frankie walked back into the squad room. "Oh, hi Fraser," she said, flashing him half a smile. Then she turned to Ray. "Caitlin says she's ready to talk," she said. "I think she's all out of tears."

"The poor woman," noted Fraser.

Ray took a deep breath; this wasn't going to be an easy interview. He looked at Fraser. "You comin'?" he asked and to Ray's relief Fraser nodded.

xXxXxXx

"I'm sorry for your loss," said Fraser sincerely after Ray had introduced him to Caitlin.

"Thank you," she replied, quietly. Her eyes were red and swollen and her hair was a mess. She felt as though she'd poured out all of her grief and now she felt nothing but numb.

Ray started with some basic questions, trying to put Caitlin at her ease as much as possible. Ray had never really lost anyone close to him, but he'd interviewed enough devastated relatives to be able to imagine how it felt. He glanced at Fraser. _He doesn't have to imagine; he knows._

Frankie duly took notes and Caitlin began to open up.

"Tell me about Stacey," said Ray. "Did she have any enemies? Anyone from her past who may have wanted to, y'know, hurt her?"

Caitlin shrugged. "I've already told you who killed her."

"The boyfriend," Ray acknowledged. "Or was that, er, ex-boyfriend?"

Caitlin shrugged again. "Who knows?" she replied. "She told me she'd stopped seeing him months ago, but I'm afraid it has recently come to my attention that my sister had trouble telling me the truth."

Ray glanced at Fraser. That was a slightly odd thing for her to say.

Caitlin noticed their puzzled looks and tried to explain. "Stacey is…was…my half-sister," she began. "My Dad left my Mom when I was seven years old for another woman – Stacey's Mom – and Stacey was born two years later. I had no further contact with my Dad until I was seventeen. Then he was diagnosed with cancer and Stacey's Mom thought I had a right to know, so she found out where we were living and called at the house. My Mom was out, thank god. She hated her."

"Understandable," noted Ray.

"So that was when I found out I had a sister," continued Caitlin, "and I met Stacey for the first time a few weeks later. She was just a little kid then, of course. I started sending her letters and birthday gifts and she'd write me back. I never really felt close to my Dad, but I felt a real connection with Stacey. Our Dad beat the cancer the first time, but then it came back again a few years later and he died four years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Frankie. She was really close to her parents and they'd always supported her and her older brother. She couldn't imagine what Caitlin's childhood must have been like with an absent father.

"So after the funeral we sat and talked for hours and we found out we had so much in common even though I was nine years older than her." A smile started to form at the corners of Caitlin's mouth as she remembered all the good times she'd had with Stacey. "Well, she liked to read those trashy romance novels - you know the ones where the helpless heroine gets rescued by a tall, dark, handsome stranger - whereas I prefer thrillers, but we agreed on just about everything else," Caitlin continued as her smile grew wider. "We started speaking almost every day after that. Then when I had to move out of my old apartment two years ago, Stacey suggested I move in with her."

"It's fortunate that you were able to build a relationship with your sister after such a long time," said Fraser.

Caitlin nodded. "I mean, we argued sometimes like sisters do, but mostly it was great."

"Tell me about the boyfriend," prompted Ray. The background information was interesting, but of little obvious relevance. "Er," he scanned down his notes. "Martin." Caitlin had only been able to give them the man's first name.

Caitlin's smile faded immediately. "I knew she had a boyfriend, but she didn't talk about him very much. Then one day we'd been watching this movie – I can't remember the name of it now – but it was about a woman who kills her abusive husband. Right at the end, Stacey suddenly broke down and told me that Martin had been beating on her. I was shocked. Of course I told her to leave him straight away – my sister deserved better than that. The next day she promised me she'd ended it with Martin."

"But you don't believe that was the truth?" queried Fraser.

"No," replied Caitlin. "A few weeks later she came home with bruises on her arm. She told me she'd fallen down some stairs, but I knew she was lying. Seems she was good at that."

"Why would she go back to him?" asked Frankie. They'd learnt about domestic violence at the Academy, but she still didn't really understand what made a person stay in a violent relationship.

"He had some kind of weird hold over her," replied Caitlin. "I don't think she had the strength to leave him; it was easier to stay. Eventually she admitted that she was still seeing him. She tried to tell me that underneath it all he was a nice guy."

"Nice guys don't beat on their girlfriends," stated Ray, bluntly.

"Earlier you suggested that your sister had a habit of lying to you," said Fraser. "What did you mean? Were there other instances?"

"Yes," replied Caitlin, sadly. "I was really hurt when I found out she was still seeing Martin. She'd been lying to me about it for months. She would make up stories about where she was going when really she was meeting up with him. Then I started thinking. I figured if she could lie about that, what about the other things?"

"What other things?" asked Frankie.

"Stacey told me these crazy stories all the time about her life," explained Caitlin. "At first I thought she was just one of those unlucky people who attracted trouble, but I was so hurt now I needed to know for sure. So I called her Mom and asked her a few questions. It turns out Stacey's childhood had been pretty normal. Stacey had told me all sorts of lies about money worries, a psychotic neighbour threatening them, her school bus getting hijacked; all sorts of dramatic stuff like that, but none of it was true. I couldn't believe she would do that to me."

"I've found that some people simply don't place much importance in the truth," said Fraser.

"But if we can't be honest with each other, where does that leave us?" asked Caitlin.

Fraser couldn't answer her. "What did you do when you found out the extent of her deceit?" he asked.

"I confronted her," replied Caitlin. "That evening. I guess I should have waited until I'd calmed down a little, but I was so angry and upset. I'm afraid I said some things I regret now, but what did she expect?" 

"Did she deny it?" asked Ray.

"Some of it. Kind of," she replied. "To be honest she didn't really say much of anything. She made me feel like I was the one in the wrong for accusing her of all these things. Maybe some of them were true after all? I guess I'll never know now. I do know for a fact that at least some of the things were lies, though and that hurt more than I can put into words. She stormed out of our apartment and she must have gone straight to Martin because when she came back the next day she had more bruises."

"Oh no," said Frankie. She'd never really had a serious boyfriend, but she promised herself that she'd never get into a situation like the one poor Stacey had found herself in.

"So we had another fight," Caitlin continued, sadly. "And she told me to move out. So I did. That was about a month ago. I thought she'd call me after a couple of days and we'd be able to try to sort things out, but she never called. I tried calling her, but she ignored my calls. I wanted her to apologise, or even yell at me and tell me I'd got it all wrong...something, anything…but I all I got was silence. I desperately wanted to talk to her. I still loved her even after all of that; she was my sister. I wanted to find out why she'd done it, I wanted to help her sort her life out. I certainly didn't want to fall out over it. I hoped that one day we'd find a way to heal our relationship, but now…" her voice cracked. "Now…we'll never get that chance."

Caitlin couldn't hold back any longer and she broke down again. Frankie put down her notebook and slipped her arm around Caitlin's shoulders supportively.

"I know this is tough for you," said Ray, wishing he didn't have to continue. "But I have to ask where ya were in the early hours of this morning."

Caitlin nodded understandingly. She was willing to answer as many questions as it took to help find the man who killed her sister. "I was at work," she replied with a sniff. "I work at a bakery; we start at four in the morning."

Frankie wrote down the details in her notebook. She knew they'd have to confirm her alibi later, but she felt sure it would check out. "Can you give us anything more on this Martin guy?" she asked.

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "Plenty of bastards beat on their girlfriends. Why do you think he was the one who killed her?"

"Who else could it be?" asked Caitlin.

"Even if we knew his identity, or current location, you do understand that we would need evidence before we can arrest him," explained Fraser.

"She told me he was in a band," replied Caitlin, racking her brains to try to remember anything that might help. "And I remember her saying he had dark hair. That's all. I'm sorry. Of course neither of those things might be true. He's probably not even called Martin," she sighed. "I just can't believe anything she ever told me anymore. I don't understand why people lie to people they claim to care about? Maybe that's it; maybe she never cared about me at all? Why else would she want to hurt me like that?"

"People lie for a number of reasons," began Fraser. "Because they're ashamed, because they're insecure, because they're in trouble. They usually hope to gain something from it; money, pity, or perhaps, in Stacey's case, love."

"She was my sister, I loved her for who she was, not how dramatic her life was," replied Caitlin. "She didn't have to impress me, or make me feel sorry for her and why would she feel insecure around me? I trusted her with everything and she couldn't even trust me with the truth. I don't understand."

"May I suggest that this is not a good time for you to attempt to make sense of things," said Fraser, gently. "Allow yourself some time to grieve."

xXxXxXx

A short while later, Fraser, Ray and Frankie were in the morgue. Ray had told Frankie that she really didn't need to come in, but Frankie had insisted that she'd be OK. She wanted to be as involved as she could with this investigation; this was her first big case and she felt a responsibility to the family.

Mort had been pleasantly surprised to see Fraser and he quickly began to explain his findings so far. Stacey Walker had been viciously beaten and then strangled. There were no signs of sexual assault; the attack had been one of pure violence. Fraser pulled on some sterile gloves and began to examine some of the marks on the arms.

Frankie stood to one side and observed the proceedings, making copious notes and asking lots of questions.

Ray stood by the door, ready to run out if at any time he started to lose control of the nausea he was battling to keep at bay. As much as the sight of Stacey Walker lying dead in her apartment had sickened him, seeing her laid out on Mort's examination table, cold and grey, was a hundred times worse.

"What do you think he used to strangle her?" asked Frankie, squinting at the angry red lines around the victim's throat. "It looks like a cord, or rope, or something."

"That would be my guess too," agreed Mort.

"Approximately two centimetres in diameter," added Fraser. "That's three quarters of an inch," he added, mostly for Ray's benefit.

"Nothing like that was found at the scene," said Frankie. "We should go back and take another look around."

Ray nodded. He was impressed with her eagerness and he agreed that a further search of Stacey's apartment was needed.

"This shoulder is dislocated," stated Fraser. "And…" he paused and studied the red and purple marks on the cold skin a little more closely. "It happened after death. Am I right?"

"Indeed you are," noted Mort. "There are marks on her back too, carpet burns," he added. "I believe the body was dragged along the floor."

Frankie swallowed hard. "She was killed in another room and then he pulled her along by one arm and dumped her on the bed," she said quietly, closing her eyes as her imagination built the scene in her mind.

Then she started to think about exactly what she wanted to do to the man who'd done these horrible things. She imagined how it would feel when they caught him – and she was convinced that they would - knowing that he'd probably spend the rest of his life in jail, or even face the death penalty. It was a good feeling. _Is it supposed to feel good? _

Frankie suddenly felt strange. Dizzy, maybe…no, just strange. "Excuse me," she breathed and ran out of the room. She stopped in the corridor and leant against the cold, concrete wall, taking deep breaths to try to clear her head.

"You OK?" It was Ray. He'd followed her out, glad for an excuse to leave. He placed his hand on her shoulder supportively. "Don't worry; I, er, I get like that all the time. I hate that place. It's the smell; makes me wanna puke."

Frankie shrugged. She couldn't speak yet. She hadn't really noticed the smell in the morgue and she'd actually found the methodical process interesting. It wasn't seeing the body of Stacey Walker that had affected her, it was the realisation of how much she'd suffered at the hands of her killer. The idea that someone could do that to another person was incomprehensible to Frankie. She'd looked at numerous case studies at the Academy of course, but nothing compared to a genuine investigation. The realisation of how deeply a murder affected so many people had hit her hard.

Frankie looked up at Ray. "Does this ever get any easier?" she asked, hopefully.

"Nope," replied Ray without hesitation. "Sorry," he added. Maybe he shouldn't have been so blunt, but it was the truth. This job wasn't easy at all and the sooner Frankie figured that out the better. He and Fraser were used to these kinds of cases. They'd learnt to deal with distressing situations in their own unique ways over the years. They both had very different coping mechanisms, but it worked for them; most of the time, anyway. However, Frankie was dealing with it for the first time.

"If you're strong enough to make a successful career as a police officer – and I think you are - the rewards are enormous." It was Fraser's voice. Just by knowing her for three days, he could see she had huge potential to be one of the best.

Frankie hadn't noticed the Mountie appear from the morgue. He stood by the door, snapping the latex gloves from his fingers. She smiled, grateful to him for believing in her. Of course Frankie had been well aware that she'd have to face situations like these when she signed up to the Academy, but the shock of her first big murder case, just three days into her new job, was threatening to overwhelm her.

"My cousin was murdered," she began.

Ray and Fraser glanced at each other in surprise; she hadn't mentioned this before.

"We, um, we weren't really that close, I guess. He was a few years older than me," she continued, "but I just remember how great the cops were. They gave my aunt and uncle so much support and they worked real hard to find the guy. He's serving twenty five to life right now. That was when I knew I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to help another family, the way they'd helped us."

"We will find him," said Fraser earnestly. "And we will bring him to justice."

Ray admired his buddy's optimism. He wished he could feel the same, but right now they had nothing to go on. _Maybe we'll get a break tomorrow?_ "It's late," he said to Frankie. "Let me drive ya home."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4.

"Try it one more time; you really need to roll the 'r' or it sounds weird." Francesca had been at the Consulate for two hours. It was her day off and she'd given up her time to help Turnbull with his Italian pronunciation, but although it meant she got to spend the morning in the same building as Fraser, she was beginning to regret her decision.

Fraser dropped his forehead onto his desk with a thud. They were driving him mad. His supersensitive hearing could pick up every mispronounced word, every mangled consonant and every unrolled 'r' from his office, even with the door closed. He could tell by the rising pitch of Francesca's voice that she was nearing the end of her tether, so he hoped the torture would be over soon.

Dief yapped. Fraser lifted his head from his desk and looked down at the wolf. "Oh stop it," he scolded. "You were almost as bad when you were learning French."

Fraser took a deep breath and closed the file he had been trying to deal with. He had intended to get a lot of work done this morning, but it hadn't worked out like that at all. It was impossible to get anything done with Turnbull and Francesca making so much noise. Ray and Frankie were working on their murder case and he thought it best to leave them to it for a few hours at least. Besides, Lieutenant Welsh had already made it clear that he wanted Frankie to learn the proper way to do things and Fraser thought it would be good for Ray to focus on teaching the young rookie for a while.

Ray had kept his Lieutenant up to date with developments and he'd so far been impressed with Frankie. He'd already started putting the wheels in motion to make sure she stayed at the Twenty Seventh. _That bozo McDonaldson at the Two Four always gets his pick of the rookies, _Welsh had thought to himself, _so this time I'm getting my request in early._

It was no good. Fraser was going to have to leave his work until later. He picked up the phone and dialled Ray's direct line at the precinct.

Ray was pleased to hear his friend's voice. "I took Frankie back to speak to our victim's mom again," he explained. "She knew nothin' about this Martin guy at all. She said some weird things about the sister, though."

"What things exactly?" asked Fraser.

"Stacey told her mom that Caitlin had been bad mouthing their Dad since he died," Ray explained. "She said her daughter loved having a sister, but Stacey didn't like some of the stuff Caitlin was saying. Seems she and her Dad were pretty close. The mom doesn't think a lot of Caitlin right now. We're gonna check it out with Caitlin later, but we're going back to the apartment now to, er, to see what we missed. D'ya wanna come along?"

Fraser was about to say a very grateful yes, when the door to his office opened and Turnbull appeared. His faced flushed red with guilt when he realised that Fraser was on the phone. "I'm so sorry, Sir," he gushed. "I shouldn't have come barging in like that. I'll come back later."

"No, it's alright Turnbull," Fraser called out as the younger Mountie turned to leave. "What was it you wanted?"

"It's…it's just that…" Turnbull stumbled over his words. "I just wanted to request permission to leave the Consulate for an hour or two."

"Of course," Fraser replied with a sigh of relief. That's exactly what he'd wanted Turnbull to do all morning.

"Thank you, Sir," replied Turnbull with a small smile. "Miss Vecchio feels that my pronunciation may be improved by a period of total immersion in the language. That is to say, we will be lunching at an Italian restaurant."

"Lunch? Together?" Fraser was quite surprised.

"Yes, Sir," confirmed Turnbull.

"Immersion techniques have proved quite successful for many people learning a new language," replied Fraser. He wasn't sure if this was the best approach for Turnbull, but anything that got them out of the Consulate for a while was alright with him. "Good luck and, um, don't hurry back," he added. He winced; that hadn't come out quite as he'd intended. "I mean, the longer the period of immersion, the better the prospects of learning."

"Thank you, Sir," replied Turnbull and he left the room.

Fraser went back to his phonecall. "I'm sorry, Ray," he said. "I have some work here that I must get finished and I'm going to have the place to myself now so it is an ideal opportunity. If you need me, though, just call."

xXxXxXx

Frankie and Ray picked over the mess in Stacey's apartment. The forensics team had been gathering clues, but the process was laborious and many areas remained as they had found them yesterday morning.

"This is where the body was dragged along the floor, Detective," one of the techies pointed out to Ray.

"Any sign of our murder weapon yet?" asked Frankie.

The young man shook his head. "Sorry, but we'll keep looking."

"C'mon, let's take a look around outside," suggested Ray.

They walked along the length of the corridor. "There's no sign of a break-in, so that means Stacey let him in like she knew him, right?" asked Frankie.

Ray nodded. "All points to the boyfriend," he replied. "Or the sister."

Frankie was shocked. "No, Caitlin couldn't have killed her sister!" she exclaimed. "You saw her yesterday; she was devastated."

"Doesn't mean she didn't do it," Ray pointed out. "Maybe she, er, got real mad with her about all that lying and just lost it."

"I don't believe it," replied Frankie. "She's not that kind of person. She seems so nice."

"Y'know, my gut tells me the same," explained Ray, "but ya gotta keep an open mind. Did you check out her alibi yet? Everyone's a suspect, even nice people; just coz ya like someone, doesn't mean they didn't do it. You'll soon see that most of the bad guys don't walk around behavin' like bad guys. If they did then our job would be a whole lot easier."

Frankie nodded slowly. Ray was right; she'd never considered the possibility that Caitlin could be the murderer. _Another stupid rookie mistake_, she scolded herself. "I'll call the bakery where she works as soon as we get back to the station," she promised. Then she was suddenly distracted by something. "Can you hear…music?"

Ray shrugged. "Someone's got their radio up too loud," he said dismissively.

"No, no it's a guitar and someone singing…badly," replied Frankie, quickening her step. "It's coming from…" she stopped and listened again. "Here!" she announced and pushed open the door to the fire escape.

Ray could hear the music more clearly now. He could also smell something. "Geez!" he exclaimed. "Someone's sure havin' a party down there," he added.

Frankie screwed up her nose. "Is that…" she trailed off. She wasn't sure and she didn't want to make a fool of herself.

"Potheads," nodded Ray in disgust. The acrid smell of smoke had wafted up the back stairs and into the corridor.

"No wonder she's so out of tune," noted Frankie, dryly.

"Have you got your cuffs?" asked Ray, with half a grin. "I'll let ya have this one."

Frankie held her breath as they walked down the steps of the fire escape as quietly as they could. This could be it – her first arrest. She'd waited so long for this moment and her heart pounded with anticipation. Even if it was only a couple of doped up potheads, it was still her first time and she didn't want to screw it up. She silently ran through the Miranda rights in her head, knowing that one tiny slip-up could result in them getting let off on a technicality and she didn't want that on her record.

The two young musicians didn't even stop singing when Frankie and Ray appeared. They both had long hair and Frankie only realised that one was a man when he lifted his head, displaying an unkempt beard. He was sitting cross legged on a blanket and strumming chords on his guitar while a young woman sang along, swaying her head from side to side as she did so.

Frankie glanced at Ray, but he wanted her to take the lead so he said nothing. "Er, Chicago PD," she said, announcing their presence. "Put down the…the guitar." She could have kicked herself_. That sounded so dumb; it's a guitar, not a gun. _

"Sorry, dude," said the young female singer, speaking slowly. "Were we too loud?" She picked up a hand rolled cigarette that had been smouldering in an ashtray and took a long drag.

"Hey," said Frankie, her face falling into a frown. "Put that out!"

"This?" she girl seemed surprised. "Oh, I see what you're getting at," she added, slurring her words slightly. "It's OK, it's for medicinal purposes."

"Really?" replied Frankie, rolling her eyes.

The girl took another drag and handed it to her male guitarist friend.

"I said, put it out!" Frankie repeated, much harsher now.

The guitarist, who was perhaps slightly less high than his girlfriend, suddenly realised that they could be in trouble and quickly extinguished the cigarette. "There," he said. "We're cool, right?"

"Do you live down here?" asked Frankie, hoping she could arrest them for vagrancy as well as possession.

"No, man," replied the guitarist. "We just come down here for the sunrise; looks so beautiful on film."

"On film?" asked Ray.

The girl nodded. "We're making a video for one of our songs. We're gonna send it to MTV."

"Yeah, right," replied Ray, dismissively. "Coz there ain't enough drugged up hippies on TV already."

"OK, enough of this," said Frankie, keen to move things along. "We have reason to believe that you may be in possession of marijuana. So my partner and I…" she paused and glanced at Ray – that was the first time she'd called him her partner. It may only be a temporary arrangement, but that's who they were for now, partners. It felt good.

Ray gave a tiny nod for her to continue. He had a partner already, of course, but for this one week he was proud to have Frankie as his partner.

"My partner and I are going to search you," she continued.

Ray patted down the guitarist while Frankie searched the girl. It was no surprise to either of them to find a couple of small packets of marijuana in each of their pockets as well as some half empty boxes of cigarette papers. It wasn't as big a haul as Frankie had hoped for – she assumed they'd already smoked most of what they owned this morning - but it was enough for an arrest.

"OK, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the possession of…" began Frankie, pulling one of the girl's arms behind her back, but then suddenly she stopped.

Ray frowned. "You're doin' fine," he encouraged her.

"Wait," said Frankie. "Did you say you were down here at sunrise?" she asked, releasing the girl's wrist.

"Yeah," replied the guitarist, brushing his long hair from his eyes with his hand.

"What about yesterday?" continued Frankie. "Were you here at the same time yesterday morning?"

"Sure were," smiled the singer, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was about to be arrested. "The light reflects off that window there and bounces around under here. It's like sitting in a rainbow, man."

"Did you see anyone suspicious?" asked Frankie, pressingly. "Did anyone enter the building this way while you were here?"

"All I saw were rainbows, dude," smiled the girl, her enlarged pupils even more obvious as she stared directly at Frankie.

Frankie rolled her eyes in frustration. "But you were filming down here yesterday morning at dawn, yes?"

A smile started to spread over Ray's face as he realised what the young rookie was thinking.

"Hell, yeah," replied the girl, her wide eyes lighting up. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world. Our new song is about rainbows and love. D'you wanna hear it?"

"No," snapped Frankie. "But I want to see the footage you shot yesterday. Hand it over."

Ray was impressed at her direct approach. Sometimes it was necessary to get straight to the point; he only wished Fraser would understand that. The Mountie had a habit of talking too much and all that polite Canadian nonsense freaked Ray out.

"No way!" exclaimed the guitarist, picking up their video camera and clutching it to his chest protectively. "This is ours. We're gonna be on MTV, you can't take it."

"Yes I can, I'm a cop," replied Frankie in frustration.

Ray bit his lip. He knew that wasn't strictly true. Unfortunately the young man had come down from his high sufficiently now to know so too.

"No, I've seen TV," he said. "You need, like, a warrant. You can't just take it, man!"

Frankie looked at Ray in desperation. She knew the guy was right, but they really needed that film. "They may have caught the murderer going into the building," she said with pleading eyes. "We know he didn't go through the front door, we've already reviewed the CCTV footage."

Ray thought for a moment. He was supposed to be teaching Frankie how to be a cop the proper way, not the Ray Kowalski way, but she was right; they did need that film. It could take days to obtain a warrant and every hour that passed was another hour that the killer of a young woman was on the loose. The rules would have to wait for another day.

"OK, here's the deal," said Ray. "You hand over that tape and maybe Officer Mallion might, er, accidentally forget about the weed we found on you."

Frankie glanced at Ray. She had so wanted to arrest someone, but she could see what he was trying to do. Catching Stacey Walker's killer was far more important than arresting a couple of harmless hippies.

"What weed is that, Detective?" Frankie asked, playing along.

Ray looked expectantly at the young couple. Reluctantly, the girl ejected the tape from the video camera and handed it over.

xXxXxXx

"Frankie, Frankie…" Ray nudged her shoulder as he tried to rouse her.

Frankie had fallen asleep with her head resting on her arms on the desk in front of her. She and Ray had started to review the footage from the video they'd confiscated earlier that day, but within fifteen minutes Frankie had nodded off.

"Frankie," Ray called her again.

Frankie half-opened her eyes. "Oh…" she groaned when she realised what she'd done. She sat up slowly and stretched her arms out in front of her, trying to reinvigorate her muscles. "Sorry," she mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

"It's OK," grinned Ray. "Maybe you should go home for a couple hours? Get some sleep. I, er, I don't think you've been sleeping properly this week have ya?"

Frankie sighed. "No," she admitted. "I can't seem to switch off at night."

"Ya gotta quit doing that," Ray advised. "Or you'll go nuts."

"How do you do it?" she asked him. "How do you sleep when you're in the middle of a case like this one?"

"Me? Er, I don't," replied Ray with an apologetic smile. "I lay awake for hours going over the details and then I fall asleep about, er, about an hour before I have to get up, so I live on coffee the whole day to keep me awake."

"Oh," said Frankie with a giggle. "Well you're no help." The more she got to know Ray the more she realised that he wasn't the type of guy who found it easy to relax. He was a bundle of energy and he worried about a lot of things, although he'd never admit it. His blasé attitude was a front for his sensitive and caring nature and she could imagine him lying awake at night thinking over the details of the investigation and trying to figure out if he'd missed something important.

"Nope," agreed Ray. "Hey, talk to Fraser. He knows all this hypnotism stuff and Inuit relaxation mumbo jumbo."

"OK, I will," Frankie nodded. She really did feel exhausted physically and mentally. _I don't know if I can live like this; maybe this Police career was a huge mistake after all?_

"Do ya want me to rewind this?" asked Ray, waving the remote control at the ancient TV set they were watching the footage on.

Frankie nodded and Ray fumbled with the buttons, but before he could find the one to rewind the tape, the door opened and the elderly desk sergeant stuck his head in. "Sorry, Detective," he said. "There's a call for you. It's Caitlin Walker."

"Put it through to my desk," asked Ray and he stood up to leave the room.

"I'll stay here and watch this," said Frankie. She picked up the remote and ran the tape back to the beginning. The film started with the two budding musicians introducing themselves to the camera. The girl then did a rather odd dance as her boyfriend started to play his guitar. Apparently she wasn't happy with her moves, though, as they started the whole thing again…and then again. In the background, the street started to come to life slowly as the sun started to appear over the horizon. A man appeared with a dog on a lead, but walked straight past. The occasional car passed and then a delivery van, but no one even came close to where the young musicians were recording their video.

Frankie turned the sound down as the girl started to sing. Her out of tune wailings were giving the young rookie a headache. She made a few notes in her notebook as the minutes ticked by, but she could feel her eyelids starting to get heavy again. She was relieved when Ray came back, but she quickly became concerned about the look on his face.

"What happened?" she asked. "What did Caitlin say?"

Ray sat down. "She was kinda stunned when I told her what Stacey's mom said about her," he explained. "She denies ever sayin' that stuff about her dad. She said she hardly knew the man, only what Stacey told her about him. She can't believe her sister would deliberately lie to her mom to try to cause trouble between them."

"Do you think that's why she did it?" asked Frankie. "Just to stir up a fight between her sister and her mom?"

Ray shrugged. "That's what Caitlin thinks. I can't think of another reason right now. Stacey Walker sure had some, er, issues didn't she."

"I feel really sorry for Caitlin, with all this stuff unravelling around her now while she's grieving," said Frankie. "She's lost her sister, but she kinda already lost her before she died."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "Families, huh." His mind wandered to his own family situation. After all those years estranged from his parents – his Dad in particular – he was so lucky to be getting a second chance with them now. "Me and my Dad have had a, er, a difficult time, but now we're good…I think," he said with slight uncertainty.

Frankie didn't really know what he was talking about and he shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"So," said Ray, his mind snapping back to the case. "Did ya see anyone on this video yet?"

Frankie shook her head. "Not yet, but there's another hour of it to get through," she explained rolling her eyes and starting the playback again.

Half an hour later, just as Ray was about to throw something at the screen in disgust at the terrible noise – and they still hadn't seen any rainbows – a man appeared behind the guitarist who was attempting to dance. Ray and Frankie both sat bolt upright.

"There's our guy!" exclaimed Ray. "That's gotta be him."

They watched a few more seconds as the new arrival trampled over the untidy heap of possessions the musicians had left at the foot of the steps and then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was climbing the stairs and disappearing out of shot. The singer and her guitarist boyfriend seemed completely oblivious to his presence.

"Rewind it," said Frankie urgently and Ray pressed the buttons. "Look, it's him!"

"Yeah," said Ray, slightly puzzled. Hadn't he already said that?

"No, look," urged Frankie. "It's him! John Harrison Merrick! I told you it was him I saw the other day."

"Your potential bag snatcher?" queried Ray. "The guy from the FBI Most Wanted list? The one who did that to you?" he added, pointing to the Band-Aid on her forehead.

"Yes!" exclaimed Frankie, snatching the remote from Ray's hand and rewinding it again. "That's him for sure." She paused the video and stared at the flickering image on the screen. It wasn't the greatest angle and the man had a baseball cap on, but it was enough for Frankie to be absolutely certain. The colour drained from her face and her breath hitched.

"Hey, I believe ya this time, OK," said Ray, encouragingly. "Good call." He was concerned that she'd gone very quiet.

"I, er, I need to go to the bathroom," said Frankie, her voice cracking as she leaped from her seat and ran out of the door.

Ray watched her go, puzzled by her desperation to get out of the room. His head was buzzing now they had an identity for their murder suspect and he figured Frankie was probably feeling the same way. It wasn't quite the reaction he'd expected from her, though. He assumed she'd be enthusiastically throwing ideas at him for how they could track down Merrick. _Perhaps she's just busting for a pee?_

Ray turned off the TV and VCR and wandered back through the squad room to his desk. He started rummaging through paperwork, looking for the printout with Merrick's details Francesca had given him from the FBI files the other day. Suddenly he felt a wet, lupine nose nudging his hand. He looked up and saw Fraser walk into the bullpen.

"Dief, leave Ray alone," said the Mountie. "I'm sorry, Ray. Constable Turnbull has been distracted this week and Diefenbaker is feeling neglected, gastronomically speaking."

Ray laughed. "Here," he said to the wolf, handing him a half wrapped sandwich. "I got this from the vending machine. It's kinda rubbery, but you won't care will ya."

A grateful Diefenbaker hungrily gulped down the offering.

"Is Frankie alright?" asked Fraser, watching as Ray returned to his rummaging.

"Er, yeah," replied Ray. "Er, maybe; I dunno," he added. "Why?"

"I just passed her on the way in," explained Fraser. "She appeared to be in a hurry and she seemed somewhat agitated."

"Oh," said Ray and he filled Fraser in on the day's developments. "I thought she, er, left in a hurry. Damn it where's the Merrick info gotten to? I had it right here."

Ray angrily threw papers in the air and they scattered around him.

"Here," said Fraser, finding it immediately hidden under an air freshener. "I'm surprised to see your desk in this state so soon after I tidied it for you," he added. "And since when did you have an air freshener?"

"Frannie put one on every desk - another one of her dumb ideas. Police stations should smell of sweat and coffee, not lavender," explained Ray, dismissively. "And this, Fraser my friend, is four days of Police work."

"I see," said Fraser.

Ray stood with his hands on his hips surveying the array of files, envelopes, pens, polystyrene cups and other items – some of which he didn't even recognise as belonging to him – that currently adorned his desk. "None of your Canadian neat-and-tidy crap around here, buddy."

"You're proud of this?" asked Fraser in surprise.

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "Now, give me that." He snatched the printout from Fraser's hand and looked closely at the photo. "Hell, she's right," he said with a smile. "It was him on the video. John Harrison Merrick is our chief suspect. Jeez." He let out a slow breath. "If we can nail this guy the FBI are gonna be pissed."

"Because we've arrested one of their most wanted criminals?" queried Fraser. "I would have thought they'd be pleased.

"Not when WE arrest him," replied Ray.

"Oh, I see," nodded Fraser. He had had several dealings with agents from the FBI since his arrival in Chicago and each time, instead of working together to apprehend criminals as he'd expected, the FBI seemed intent on playing a childish game of one-upmanship. Despite their reputation as an exceptional law enforcement agency of the highest quality and calibre, the agents assigned to assist the Chicago PD were usually bumbling idiots.

"Are you free for a couple hours?" asked Ray and Fraser nodded. "Let's go find Frankie. We can show her how to access the FBI archives."

"Are you guys looking for Frankie?" asked Francesca who had just walked into the squad room. Ray nodded. "Oh, well I just came from the ladies room," she explained, hesitantly. "Um, you might want to go down there. Frankie's shut herself in a cubicle. She didn't want to talk to me." Francesca paused and looked over her shoulder making sure no one was in earshot before continuing. "She's crying her eyes out in there."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5.

"Frankie, c'mon open the door." Ray was leaning with one shoulder against the toilet cubicle. He had no idea why Frankie was so upset. They'd just made a major breakthrough in the case; she should be pleased, but the sobbing sounds coming from behind the door told another story.

"Frankie, look, er, whatever it is, we can talk it through." Ray said, glancing at Fraser, but the Mountie was none the wiser.

Francesca was standing outside the ladies room stopping anyone else coming in to give them some privacy, but she wasn't going to be able to keep it up for long.

"Frankie, it's OK," continued Ray, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. _I want to help her, but I can't if she won't talk to me_. "Let's get outta this place. Fraser's freakin' out in here; I don't think guys hang out in ladies rooms in Canada."

The sobs started to slow down. "You can go, Fraser," came Frankie's quiet voice. "I'm OK."

"Ray was being facetious," Fraser pointed out.

Frankie already knew that of course, but the truth was she didn't want to face either Fraser, or Ray right now. "I'm fine," she said, choking on her words. "Please just go, both of you."

Ray hung his head. "You sure?" he asked, looking at Fraser and shrugging his shoulders. What else could they do? They couldn't force her to talk to them if she didn't want to.

Just then, they heard the click of the lock and Ray took a step back as the door slowly opened. Frankie stood there for a moment, just staring at Ray. Her mascara was streaked down her face and she was trembling slightly. She had her arms clutched tightly around herself, as if she was physically trying to hold herself together.

To Ray she suddenly looked like a frightened child, not the confident – sometimes over confident – young woman he'd been getting to know. "Hey," he said, smiling a warmly as he could. He stepped forward and enveloped her in a hug. Frankie broke down again and Ray let her sob into his shoulder for a few minutes while Fraser put a supportive hand in the small of her back.

Eventually Frankie broke away and looked over at Fraser apologetically. "Can we go somewhere else?" she asked.

"Of course," agreed Fraser. "How about the park? Diefenbaker needs some exercise and the trees look exquisite in the evening sun at this time of year."

"As long as there are no rainbows," replied Frankie, her face twisting into a tiny smile.

Ray laughed, but Fraser looked puzzled. "It's not raining," he stated. "For a rainbow to be visible…"

"I'll explain later, buddy," said Ray. "Just don't bring your guitar, OK."

xXxXxXx

Ray and Frankie sat silently on a bench eating ice cream watching Fraser throw sticks for Diefenbaker. They both felt slightly uncomfortable; Frankie felt a bit of a fool for breaking down like that and Ray knew he should be saying encouraging and supportive things, but he didn't really know where to start.

Eventually it was Frankie who broke the ice. "Um, thanks for the ice cream," she said. "I'm sorry about before."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," replied Ray. "Sometimes ya just gotta do that kinda thing. I do it a lot."

"You do?" replied Frankie, surprised. "The whole blubbing and snivelling thing?"

"Yep," admitted Ray. "I can't help it sometimes."

Frankie let that information sink in for a moment. _I guess it makes sense, _she realised,_ he's an out-there kinda guy with his emotions. He doesn't hold back._

"I don't often do it in public," she replied. "It's just that I realised…" she trailed off and for a moment Ray thought she was going to burst into tears again.

"Look, we're working a tough case," began Ray. "I know it ain't easy. It can feel like, er, like a, er…" he trailed off; he couldn't think of the right words to use. Ray looked over at his buddy. "Hey, Fraser!" he called out. "Help me out here."

Fraser walked over and sat the other side of Frankie on the bench. Dief curled up at her feet; he'd had quite enough exercise for one evening.

"How can I help?" Fraser asked.

"Explain it to Frankie," said Ray. "Y'know, explain how ya feel in your head when you're working a homicide. All, er, like…" he waved his hands around in the air as if that would mean something to Fraser.

Fortunately for Ray, Fraser understood exactly what he meant. Unfortunately, though, Fraser didn't find talking about his emotions very easy. "Frankie," he began earnestly. "Sometimes, as officers of the law, our duty leads us to take on…that is to say, we are obliged, as public servants, to shoulder certain responsibilities…" he dried up and looked desperately at Ray.

Ray rolled his eyes. "She doesn't need an extract from the psych page of the training manual, Fraser," he said and shoved the last of his ice cream cone into his mouth.

"My apologies," replied Fraser.

"I appreciate what you're trying to say," said Frankie with half a smile. "But I think I'm doing OK with the case. I'm trying to stay professional – detached - like they said at the Academy. Don't get emotionally involved. Of course it's hard…so hard…but I'm doing OK. At least I was…" she trailed off.

"You ran off pretty quick after we watched that video," Ray said. "What happened?"

Frankie hung her head. "I realised that it's all my fault," she said and let out a long, slow breath. "Stacey Walker," she added quietly. "It's my fault that she's dead."

Ray was stunned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tears started to form in Frankie's eyes again. "John Harrison Merrick. I saw him, on my first day and I screwed up," she tried to explain. "If only I'd gone to find you, Ray, instead of charging off on my own like that we could have brought him in and he wouldn't have gone on to kill Stacey."

Ray turned and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. "No," he said, "you cannot think like that, d'ya hear me? If you start thinking like that you'll go nuts and you'll never make it as a cop."

Frankie gasped, stunned at Ray's assertion.

"You can't start playing the 'what-if' game," Ray continued, relaxing his grip slightly. "What if I'd done this, or that…what if I hadn't gone to get coffee that morning? What if I'd sent you instead, huh? Y'see where this goes?"

Frankie could understand what he was saying, but she still felt that somehow she could have prevented the murder.

"Ray's quite correct," Fraser joined in and Ray let her shoulders go so she could turn to look at his buddy. "There's a theory in the field of quantum physics," he continued, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "The theory being that every time a situation exists with more than one possible outcome, a new universe is created to accommodate each possibility. Therefore, each time we make a decision, the universe splits into a number of parallel universes based on each of our choices, which then subsequently split again as another decision is made. Of course we are only aware of one universe at any one time, but if you think about the number of decisions each of us makes in one day, the number of possible universes in existence is infinitesimal."

"This is supposed to make her feel better?" asked Ray incredulously.

"No, it's OK," smiled Frankie. "I like it. Thank you."

"I suppose the point I am trying to make is that life is a series of interlinked events," continued Fraser. "Change one thing, just one decision and the subsequent chain of events will be different, but not necessarily in the way that you imagine. You cannot possibly say how the actions of others will affect developments. Therefore, to go over and over it all in your mind is a futile exercise. "

Frankie nodded slowly. "I guess," she said quietly.

"Who knows what might've happened," added Ray. "So don't waste your time on thinking about it. Not healthy; not healthy at all. What's done is done and Stacey Walker's death was not your fault."

"Thanks, guys," she smiled. "You're right. I'm sorry. I guess I do need to focus. We don't even know why he killed Stacey yet. I mean, the guy's a violent son-of-a-bitch, but that's not a motive."

xXxXxXx

Early next morning, Ray stumbled towards his desk rubbing his eyes and ignoring a snide comment from Dewey as he passed the other Detective's desk. Ray was carrying a cup of hot coffee, his third of the day. It was early, but he wanted to get things moving on the case. He had hoped that Frankie would be there already, but there was no sign of her yet.

Francesca came out of Welsh's office after leaving some files on the Lieutenant's desk. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Ray. "Oh, hi," she said. "Early for you isn't it?"

"Shut it, Frannie," snapped Ray. It wasn't like he was late for work every day – occasionally, maybe, or quite often…or regularly, but definitely not every day - so the next person to make a dumb comment was going to get a kick in the head.

"It's just, er, um…" Francesca was uncharacteristically lost for words.

"What?" sneered Ray. "C'mon, spit it out."

"Were you…er…looking for Frankie?" asked Francesca.

Ray's face fell into a frown. "What's goin' on?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Um, well she wasn't expecting to see you so early," Francesca started to explain, biting her lower lip nervously. She had told Frankie that she wouldn't tell Ray, but they had assumed Frankie would have at least another hour before the Detective crawled out of bed. Ray could always tell when Francesca was lying though, just like her real brother could.

"She's done somethin' stupid hasn't she," sighed Ray.

"No, Ray, don't be like that," scolded Francesca. "She's just showing some initiative, that's all."

"She's a rookie, she's not allowed to show initiative," retorted Ray. "Now for god's sake, Frannie. Tell me where she is so I can go yell at her again!"

Francesca frowned disapprovingly. "She's taken a squad car and she's gone back to that street café where she first saw Merrick the other day to look for clues," explained the Civilian Aid. "She said she wouldn't be long."

"Get her on the radio," ordered Ray. He paced around the squad room while Francesca made contact with the young rookie. He didn't want to yell at her, especially not after the talk they'd had yesterday evening in the park, but what choice did he have? He was meant to be teaching her how to be a good cop and just when he was starting to think she'd got it, she went and did something like this.

Finally Francesca waved the handset at him and he snatched it from her. "Frankie!" he was trying to keep his voice down, but it was still quite obvious that he was mad at her. "Get your rookie butt back to the station right now."

"I'm sorry," replied Frankie, her voice sounding slightly distorted over the radio. "You can yell at me all you like later, OK. But you've gotta get down here and see this; you'll never guess what I found."

XxXxXxXx

"Fake passports?" Fraser put down his pen and pressed the phone to his ear . He wasn't entirely sure he'd heard his partner correctly.

"Yeah," came Ray's reply. "Frankie saw some loose bricks in the wall round by the café and there were envelopes hidden inside stuffed with fake documents."

"So Mr Merrick is involved in smuggling illegal immigrants into the country," pondered Fraser. That was an unexpected twist. He stood and carried the phone across to the tiny window in his office. The cable just about stretched far enough and Fraser wanted to see the sky while he thought over this development. His office at the Consulate was tiny and claustrophobic and not conducive to logical thought.

"I guess he's, er, what's that word? Diversifying," replied Ray.

There was a pause and for a moment Fraser thought the line had gone dead. "Ray?"

"I'm still here, buddy," said Ray. "It's Frankie. She went off on her own again. What am I gonna do with her? After everything that's happened! What if Merrick had been there again?"

"Ray, didn't we tell Frankie yesterday about the dangers of playing the 'what-if' game?" asked Fraser.

"Yes, Fraser," sighed Ray. "Yes, we did. But you know damn well that you and me both do it all the time."

Fraser coated his lower lip with his tongue. Of course Ray was right. The lecture he'd given Frankie about parallel universes had seemed like the right thing to say yesterday. It was all fine in theory, but in practice it was impossible not to consider what might have been. Fraser spent half his life thinking about exactly that and it lead to some of his darkest moments. He hoped that somewhere there was a universe where his parents were still alive…and one where he'd never sent Victoria Metcalfe to jail.

"Fraser?" Now it was Ray's turn to assume they were having phone trouble.

"Sorry, Ray," said Fraser, his mind snapping back to this universe. "I'm sure Frankie knows she should have waited for you, but she wanted to make the best use of her time," he continued. "She must have considered it worth the risk. As it turned out Merrick wasn't there and she discovered a vital piece of evidence."

"But she disobeyed my orders," said Ray in frustration.

"And you have never disobeyed an order for the purposes of pursuing a criminal?" offered Fraser.

Ray sighed again. "I know what you're saying, buddy," he answered. "But you see my point, don't ya?"

"Yes, of course," said Fraser.

"This is exactly why I'm not cut out to be a Training Officer!" exclaimed Ray.

"On the contrary, Ray," replied Fraser. "I think you're the perfect person to train someone like Frankie."

Ray didn't believe his buddy. Fraser was just trying to make him feel less of a failure. Well, it wasn't working. Ray ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. He didn't have time for this now. They needed to find Merrick and perhaps these passports were the break they'd so badly needed?

"OK, so, er, all these passports, they were all for young, pretty Asian girls," Ray explained. "Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia, a whole mix. I don't even know where Malaysia is."

"It's in the South China Sea region. It has land borders with Thailand, Indonesia and Brunei," explained Fraser.

Of course that meant nothing to Ray. "Er, greatness," he replied. "So, I figured Merrick isn't bringing these girls over here to start a new life in the land of the free outta the goodness of his heart."

"Probably not," agreed Fraser. He'd been reading Merrick's psych profile on the FBI database and it wasn't pretty. How Stacey Walker could have chosen to spend time with him, let alone continue a relationship with the man, was beyond his comprehension.

"So I've got Frannie working on a list of all of the one hundred percent legitimate, totally legal, adults-only dancing establishments in the area," Ray continued.

"Sorry, Ray," replied Fraser, puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Whorehouses, Fraser!" exclaimed Ray.

"Oh."

"It's a hunch, but it's all we've got," Ray explained. "You know how these people operate, Fraser. Girls like this are brought over here under false premonitions…"

"That's false pretences, Ray," Fraser pointed out.

"Yeah and that too," sneered Ray. "Hey, you busy?" he asked. "We've got a lot of ground to cover today."

"I'd be glad to help," replied Fraser. "I'll meet you at the station."

xXxXxXx

Several hours later, Frankie's brand new, shiny regulation issue shoes were starting to become very uncomfortable. They'd visited countless dancing clubs and interviewed various proprietors, most of whom were very accommodating, although it was obvious to Frankie that some of them were rubbing their noses in the blatancy of what they were really doing behind the scenes. She hadn't realised that there were so many of these places in the backstreets of Chicago.

Frankie was starting to wonder if maybe she was a little too naïve to be a cop. She knew this kind of thing went on, of course, but the scale of it had blown her away. Some of the clubs appeared to be perfectly reasonable places catering to patrons who simply enjoyed watching scantily clad dancing girls, but a large number of them were obviously a front for prostitution and other associated activities.

"Can't we shut these places down?" asked Frankie.

"No evidence," shrugged Ray.

"But it's obvious what's going on," insisted Frankie. "These girls are being exploited."

"It's not that simple," replied Ray. "Who's gonna testify?"

Frankie sighed sadly. She was quickly learning that all the ideals she'd had coming out of the Academy were just that. Ideals. She promised herself that she would work hard to be the best cop she could so maybe - as much of a cliché as it was - just maybe, she could make a difference to the people who really needed it in this town.

Ray was getting really frustrated with their lack of progress. They'd been showing photographs of Merrick around, but no one had recognised him. He'd hoped they would have a lead by now, but it was getting late in the day and so far nothing.

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way?" suggested Frankie. "We're walking in there all badges and guns and I don't think some of these people really like cops. Even if they did know Merrick, I'm not sure they'd tell us."

"You have a point," said Fraser. He wished he hadn't worn the red serge today. He was immensely proud of his RCMP uniform, but he was also acutely aware of the attention it attracted. The air of authority was perhaps not the best image to portray under these circumstances. Also, much to Ray's amusement, he'd lost count of the number of times he had been propositioned today and Fraser never quite knew how to deal with the unwanted attention.

"How do you wanna play it then, buddy?" asked Ray.

"I'll go undercover," announced Frankie before Fraser had a chance to answer.

"No!" Ray and Fraser replied in unison.

"Why not?" asked Frankie.

"Do you really have to ask?" Ray threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"Yes," said Frankie, putting her hands on her hips. "I can go into some of the clubs and enquire about getting work…"

"As a hooker," Ray clarified.

"Yes," replied Frankie indignantly. "I'm not going to do anything dumb, I'll just ask questions, get talking to some of the other girls."

"Too dangerous," said Ray firmly. "There's no way Welsh'd let you anyway."

Frankie looked at Fraser with pleading eyes. "I can do this," she said.

"I don't doubt it for a moment," replied Fraser, "and neither does Ray," he added glancing at his partner, who nodded an agreement. "But unfortunately Ray is correct; the Lieutenant would never give you clearance for such a mission."

Frankie stopped walking and leaned against a wall, folding her arms across her chest and looking to all intents and purposes like a teenager sulking after her Dad had told her she wasn't allowed out.

Ray couldn't help laughing at her. "Listen," he said. "I get ya, OK. I get that this sucks and we're getting nowhere and ya just wanna do something, but just take a breath and think about this."

Frankie said nothing.

"John Harrison Merrick is a dangerous man," said Fraser, taking over from Ray. "And if you remember, he saw you on your first day, in full uniform. If you were to encounter him again he would recognise you immediately and I have no doubt that your life would be in danger."

Frankie let her head fall forward. Fraser was right; he had seen her. She'd almost forgotten about it now, but he had got a good look at her face just before he'd thrown it against a wall and he would definitely recognise her if he saw her again. It was too risky after all. She turned and kicked a dumpster, letting out a growl of frustration as she did so.

Fraser was momentarily taken aback at just how much like Ray she looked when she did it; his partner did that kind of thing all the time.

"You done?" Ray asked her after a brief pause.

Fraser couldn't help a small smile; that was so often his reaction to one of Ray's outbursts.

Frankie nodded silently.

"You alright?" asked Fraser.

Frankie lifted her head. "I guess," she said, dejectedly.

Ray threw his arm around her shoulders supportively. "C'mon, partner," he said encouragingly. "We've got one more place to check out in this neighbourhood and then we'll call it quits for today. If we get nowhere we'll try a different tack tomorrow."

"OK," said Frankie and they walked a couple of blocks until they found themselves outside yet another building decorated with gaudy neon lights and tatty, chintz curtains.

Frankie screwed up her nose and Ray laughed. "This one makes The Mermaid Lounge look sophisticated," he said and they knocked on the door.

A tall, skinny, middle-aged woman opened the door. "We're closed," she snapped.

"Chicago PD," announced Ray, shoving his badge in her face. "Can we come in, or d'ya wanna do this on the street?"

Reluctantly, the woman let them in. Behind her it was a hive of activity as a number of girls, some barely dressed, hurried about getting the place ready for opening time later that evening. The first thing that struck Frankie was that a high proportion of them were Asian. She glanced at Fraser; he'd noticed it too. Other clubs they'd been to had had a much wider racial mix. Frankie's heart skipped a beat; could this be the one?

"Do you know this guy?" Ray asked the woman, who had introduced herself as Irene. He showed her the photograph they had of Merrick.

"No," replied the woman. Then something caught her eye and she turned. "Ting Ting, or whatever the hell your name is, those flowers look like crap. Do them again!" Then she turned back to Ray. "Sorry, honey," she said with a sickly smile. "These girls all look the same to me, but they're cheap and the paying customers like 'em so I gotta work with what I can afford."

Frankie had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying something. How offensive was this woman? She treated the girls like dirt. Surely they could arrest her for something, couldn't they? Anything?

"Excuse me," said Fraser, stepping forward. "Perhaps you could look at the photograph again? It is quite important."

"I told you already, I've never seen that man before in my life," said Irene.

Just then a young dancer came running over, clearly concerned about something. She was slightly built with long, dark hair and she was wearing a high cut red costume adorned with feathers and sequins. "Music," she said with a strong accent. "No music, no music." She pointed towards the main dance hall.

"I don't care about your music!" exclaimed Irene, getting right in the face of her employee. "Get outta my sight."

"OK, let me see your paperwork," said Ray. He'd had enough of this obnoxious woman and he, like Frankie, had decided that even if she had no connection to Merrick, he was going to get her charged with something. "Music license, liquor licence, I wanna see all of it now."

Irene was about to object, but then another of the dancers ran out of the hall towards the stairs. As she passed Fraser noticed something and called after her. "Excuse me!" but the girl didn't react.

"She don't speak English," sneered Irene. "None of them do."

"I'd like to speak with her, if I may," asked Fraser.

Irene shrugged. "Siti," she called up the stairs. When the girl turned to look, the older woman beckoned her to come back down and she timidly followed the order.

Fraser smiled warmly at her. "Hello," he said. "My name is Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP."

"Fraser, she doesn't speak English," Ray reminded him.

"Of course, my apologies," said Fraser. "May I see your neck?" he asked, pointing first at his own neck and then at hers. "Please?" He realised she didn't understand the language, but hoped that his gestures would be enough.

Ray wondered what the heck his partner was talking about. Frankie, however, could now see what Fraser had spotted and realised what he was doing.

Siti looked nervously at Irene, but her boss didn't do or say anything.

Fraser took a step towards Siti, but she recoiled, instinctively bringing her hands up to her neck.

"I'm sorry," said Fraser. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He smiled again and spread his hands out in front of him in a friendly gesture.

Frankie stepped forward now, too, hoping that another female would be less intimidating to Siti. The young woman seemed to understand. "Your neck," said Frankie, lifting her own chin, trying to encourage Siti to do the same.

To Frankie's relief, Siti copied Frankie and finally Ray understood. There were raw, red lines running across her throat. Frankie's blood ran cold and she looked at Fraser. "The same as Stacey," she said. "Merrick tried to strangle this girl too."

Fraser nodded solemnly. "Thank you kindly," he said, nodding appreciatively to Siti. "Ray, show her the photograph," he added.

"Oh yeah," said Ray and passed it over.

Siti's face went pale when she saw Merrick's face and her breathing became shallow.

"Did he do this to you?" asked Fraser, pointing to her neck and back to the photograph.

Siti nodded, fear still evident on her face.

"I'm sorry," said Fraser, gently.

"How about this one?" Ray passed across a photo of Stacey Walker. He had no idea if the young murder victim had been involved in Merrick's scheme, but it was worth a shot.

Siti's face became warmer when she saw Stacey's smiling face. She looked at Fraser and smiled for the first time since they'd met her. "Friend," she said, pointing to the picture. "Friend."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6.

"Hey, no touching!"

Fraser couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. He'd reached out a hand towards Siti's neck, intending to make a closer examination of the angry red horizontal lines running across it, but he'd been stopped by the abrupt voice of Irene.

"If you want to touch you'll have to pay," added Irene. She stood with her hands on her hips, scowling at Fraser. "I'm not running a charity here."

Frankie was struck uncharacteristically silent. _Is this woman for real? Maybe we haven't made it clear enough that we're cops?_ Frankie waited for Fraser to react. She wasn't sure exactly how he would react – she couldn't imagine the Mountie losing his temper - but she assumed he would do, or say something. Frankie watched him closely. She could see the muscles in his neck and jaw tensing as he fought to retain his self-control. She half hoped he would slap the obnoxious woman, but she knew Fraser well enough already to know he would never do that.

Ray had his fists clenched, waiting for Fraser to make his move. He would quite happily have kicked Irene in the head, but he realised that would be bad, not only for this investigation, but also for his career. _C'mon, buddy…_

"Ma'am," Fraser said finally, keeping his voice even. "I am an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I will not be paying you, or anyone, for the privilege of investigating a violent attack on this young woman." He fixed his gaze on Irene, staring at her with such intensity Frankie wondered if his blue eyes could actually burn through her leathery skin.

Irene folded her arms. She realised she couldn't stop this, but she didn't have to like it.

Fraser turned his attentions back to Siti and a compassionate smile returned to his face. "May I see?" he asked. He stepped closer to her and this time she didn't flinch. Instead she allowed him to gently move her chin, permitting the glow from the dusty light fitting hanging from the ceiling to highlight the details of the wounds.

"Hmmm," said Fraser. He turned back to Ray and Frankie. "Definitely the same type of rope that Stacey Walker was strangled with," he said, solemnly.

"OK," said Ray, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Let's get her back to the Two Seven. We'll, er, we'll need an interpreter."

Fraser gently took Siti by the elbow. "Come with us," he urged, but Siti shook herself free. She looked terrified again, backing slowly away from Fraser, her eyes wide.

"It's OK," said Frankie, stepping forward and smiling.

Siti starting talking quickly in her own language, waving her hands in the air for emphasis. Ray had no idea what language she was speaking.

"Sshhh," Fraser tried to calm her, but she continued to become more distressed. Fraser turned to Ray. "I don't speak any Malay at all," he admitted.

Ray rolled his eyes. "There's a language ya don't speak?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Yes, Ray," replied Fraser, earnestly. "I tried once, but the Austronesian languages have always caused me a spot of bother."

Ray looked at Frankie and shrugged in bewilderment.

Just then, Fraser had an idea. He turned back to Siti and spoke to her in another language that Ray didn't understand either, but he could hear that it was different to the one Siti had been rambling in just now.

Siti stopped talking and her eyes smiled at Fraser, even if she couldn't persuade her mouth to do the same.

"Did you remember some Malaysian?" asked Frankie.

"No, it's Cantonese," explained Fraser. "I hoped that Siti may speak it as a second language. She's not fluent, but then neither am I."

Frankie looked at Ray in surprise as Fraser continued to talk to Siti.

"Yeah, ya gotta go to Chinatown for dinner with Fraser one day," Ray grinned. He and his buddy often went to one particular Chinese restaurant where the owner and his family always made them feel very welcome, happy to indulge Fraser in conversation in their mother tongue.

"Siti is under the impression that if she leaves this premises she will be in danger," Fraser explained after a few minutes.

"What kinda crap is that?" asked Ray. "So that's how she keeps 'em from leaving," he realised, sneering at Irene in disgust.

Just then Fraser became aware that a small crowd had gathered at the doorway, with another two of the girls sitting at the top of the stairs. Obviously they'd been drawn by the commotion.

Fraser turned to Irene. "Is there somewhere more private we can go?" he asked.

"What?" exclaimed Irene. "Now you want a private room? I guess you're not going to pay for that either, right?"

"Lady, we're cops!" yelled Ray, his nostrils flaring as his breathing became heavier with anger.

"Hey, you boys are some of my best customers," replied Irene with a smarmy smile.

Fraser had had enough. He turned and faced Irene, leaning forward slightly so that his face was inches from hers. "Ma'am," he began, again keeping his voice low and even. "This young woman has narrowly escaped death at the hands of a violent criminal. This woman…" he paused, turning briefly to snatch the photograph of Stacey Walker from a stunned Frankie. "This woman was not so fortunate." He thrust the picture right under Irene's nose. "We believe that Siti may be able to provide us with evidence that could lead to the apprehension of the aforementioned violent criminal. So, I will ask you again. Do you have somewhere private where we may go?"

Frankie couldn't get over the forcefulness Fraser had displayed. He hadn't raised his voice at all, but just the way he had stared into the woman's eyes and the tone of his voice had been enough. It was the closest Frankie had seen to Fraser losing control. She had a feeling it was the closest he ever got to losing control, in public at least. He had really rattled Irene and now Frankie watched in amazement as she crumbled.

"Yes...yes, sure," Irene replied, her voice shaking slightly. She took a bunch of keys from her pocket and slipped one off the keyring. "Upstairs," she said, handing the key to Fraser. "Third door on the right."

Fraser smiled. The polite Mountie was back. "Thank you kindly," he said.

xXxXxXx

Fraser and SIti sat on the only two chairs in the upstairs room and talked some more. Frankie and Ray could do nothing except wait for Fraser to give them a translation. As the conversation progressed Siti became upset and Fraser passed her his handkerchief.

Frankie looked around the room. The aged curtains were a horrible shade of mustard yellow and the faded carpet was adorned with a variety of stains. She turned up her nose in disgust; it didn't appear that the room had been cleaned in a long time. She looked at the bed and tried not to think too hard about the things that had gone on in this room.

Frankie knew guys went to prostitutes for a whole bunch of different reasons and she understood that, as a Police officer, her job was not to judge people, it was to uphold the law and keep the public safe. She respected everyone's right to choose what they did with their lives and she believed that if a woman chose to sell herself for sex that was her decision to make – within the confines of the law, of course - but she knew that none of the girls here in this hellhole had been given a choice.

"What is she saying, Fraser?" asked Ray. Frankie glanced across at him; she could see he was as frustrated at not being able to understand what Siti was telling Fraser as she was herself.

"I'm sorry Ray," Fraser replied. He was having to really concentrate on the conversation and he'd forgotten that Ray and Frankie were waiting patiently to be enlightened. "Siti tells me that the women are held together in the basement of a house when they first arrive in the country," Fraser explained. "They are kept in unsanitary conditions and told they have to stay there until their passports and work permits are arranged. Merrick tried to strangle Siti a few days ago when she attempted to escape, but he was interrupted before he could kill her. She was very lucky."

"Where is this house?" asked Frankie.

Fraser slowly dragged his thumbnail across his eyebrow. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Communicating in Cantonese is proving challenging for both of us. I'll ask her again." He turned back to Siti and questioned her further on the location of the house, but when her reply came his brow furrowed into a puzzled frown. "She keeps insisting the house is in Kuala Lumpur which makes no sense."

"That's the capital of Malaysia," noted Frankie.

"I knew that," lied Ray.

"I believe I may be phrasing the question badly," Fraser explained. "The grammatical constructs of Cantonese can be confusing."

"What about Stacey Walker?" prompted Frankie. "How was she involved in all of this?"

"Siti was very upset when I told her about Stacey," Fraser explained. "She saw Stacey at the house several times," he continued. "Merrick instructed her to bring clothes and make-up for the girls in preparation for their, um, their roles at establishments such as these."

"To turn 'em into hookers, you mean," Ray said bluntly and Fraser nodded.

"It seems that Stacey also secretly brought in other things for them such as food and money," Fraser added. "When Merrick discovered this he made his feelings of disapproval quite clear."

"I bet he did," said Frankie quietly, imagining the punishment poor Stacey would have been subjected to.

"It was Stacey who chanced upon Merrick's attempt on Siti's life and prevented him from killing her," Fraser explained.

"And I bet she got her head kicked in again after that," added Ray, barely keeping his anger under control.

"I imagine so," agreed Fraser sadly.

"Why didn't Stacey just go to the cops and blow the lid on the whole operation?" Frankie pondered.

"It's impossible to know," replied Fraser. "Caitlin described the apparent hold Merrick had over her sister. One can only surmise what was going through the young woman's mind. Siti tells me that Stacey told them all that her uncle owned a large club in Las Vegas and she promised she could arrange for them to work there legitimately as dancers."

"I guess Stacey knew Siti and the others would just get deported if she called the cops," said Frankie, "and she didn't want to see that happen. She was trying to help them; to get them out of the sex trade and give them a good life."

"D'ya really think Stacey's got a rich uncle in Vegas?" asked Ray. "Sounds like another one of her dumb stories."

"Quite possibly," agreed Fraser. "It does seem rather far-fetched."

"She was just trying to give them some hope," Frankie pointed out. "You can't really blame her for that."

Fraser asked Siti some more questions in Cantonese and Frankie closed her eyes for a moment so that she could focus. She was trying to build up a picture of Stacey Walker in her mind. They knew she was a compulsive liar and that her lies had hurt the people who she claimed to love, her sister in particular. However, she had also risked her own life by lying to John Harrison Merrick in order to help the young women he had smuggled into the country to sell into the sex industry. Stacey hadn't been a bad person at all – she'd had a good heart, but she was deeply troubled. Frankie wondered what had happened in Stacey's past to cause her to behave in that way. It was tragic that her life had been cut short before she'd had a chance to explain it all to Caitlin, or to attempt to make amends for the hurt she'd caused.

"Tell Siti that we can protect her if she comes with us," Frankie urged Fraser. "I mean…we can protect her, can't we? Everyone knows she's been talking to the cops now. If Merrick finds out he'll kill her and Stacey's not around anymore to stop it happening."

Fraser glanced at Ray who nodded. He'd have to clear it with Welsh, but he couldn't see it being a problem with the Lieutenant. Siti was a key witness in a homicide investigation.

"Where are you taking her?" asked Irene when the four of them walked down the stairs towards the front door. "We open in an hour; you can't just take her!"

"Watch me," replied Fraser and Irene stood open mouthed as he placed his hand in the small of Siti's back and led her out of the building.

xXxXxXx

Frankie yawned. She tried to hide it behind her hand, but Fraser noticed.

"You should go home," he said. The squad room was quiet this time of night. One or two of the more dedicated detectives remained at their desks fuelled by coffee and adrenaline as they worked on unsolved cases and the late night cleaners breezed in and out, waving their brooms and mops under the desks with varying degrees of effectiveness. Lieutenant Welsh was almost always in his office at this time of night and tonight was no exception.

"I'm not leaving until I know Siti is safe," replied Frankie. "I don't think I could sleep even if I was at home in bed."

"I understand," nodded Fraser. "Ray is with the Lieutenant now making the arrangements. Siti will be at a safe house within the hour."

Frankie picked up the FBI file on Merrick. She must have read through it twenty times over the last couple of days, but she hoped that she'd find something they'd missed before.

Fraser unfolded a tatty photograph that Siti had given him in the car on the way to the station. "This is the photo that Stacey gave her," he said. "Stacey told her it was the club her uncle owns in Las Vegas."

"The place where she told Siti she would be safe," nodded Frankie. She took the photograph from Fraser and studied it. "This doesn't look like Vegas to me." She turned it over and squinted at the back in the dim light. "Fraser, it looks like there was something written on this photo in pencil, but it's been erased." She handed it back to him.

"Hmmm," Fraser examined it closely. "Do you have a flashlight?" he asked.

Frankie nodded and produced the standard Chicago PD issue flashlight she carried in the pouch on her belt.

Fraser took it from her and shone the bright light through the back of the photo. Frankie smiled as the unintelligible marks suddenly became discernable letters. It wasn't perfect, but there was enough to be able to read the inscription. "Coconut Dreams, Montego Bay, 1987," Frankie read. "It's a vacation snap! It's Jamaica, not Las Vegas."

Just then Ray, Welsh and Siti appeared from the Lieutenant's office. "It's all arranged," announced Welsh.

Frankie spontaneously pulled Siti into a hug. "You'll be safe now," she promised her. She realised Siti wouldn't understand the words, but the young rookie hoped she'd understand the sentiment. Welsh led the young woman away to meet the car waiting to drive her to the safe house.

Fraser explained about the photograph to Ray.

"So Stacey was using fake photos to back up her lies about Vegas," sighed Ray.

"Apparently she went to great lengths to build up this particular deception," noted Fraser. "It does seem cruel for her build up their hopes in this way, although perhaps all they needed was hope?"

Their thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open. To everyone's surprise Francesca and Turnbull walked into the squad room arm in arm. Francesca was giggling and clinging tightly onto Turnbull. She was wearing very high heels and she stumbled as she crossed to her desk.

Francesca hadn't noticed the other people in the room, but Turnbull had. The young Mountie stopped dead in his tracks. "Sir," he said, standing to attention and addressing Fraser. "Um, I…that is…er, we did not expect to see you here," he swallowed hard.

"I guess not," grinned Ray.

"Oh! Hi, Frase!" Francesca smiled when she saw him. "Turnbull and I have been out."

"Francesca, are you…" Fraser trailed off. It was obvious that she was a little tipsy. _Perhaps spending all this time with Constable Turnbull has driven her to drink?_

Turnbull blushed hard. "Miss Vecchio and I have enjoyed a meal at Carlucci's this evening," he explained. "There was no lack of fine Italian wine on offer. Mr Carlucci has been very accommodating and encouraging in my pursuit of learning the language of his birthplace."

Ray stifled a smirk. He couldn't imagine Turnbull and Frannie enjoying a meal together and drinking wine late into the night.

"Why are you guys here at this hour?" asked Francesca. "I just called in to pick up my other shoes; I left them here earlier."

Frankie explained the progress they'd made that day. "We need to figure out where this house is," she said. "It sure as heck ain't in Kuala Lumpur."

Francesca took a seat at her desk. She switched on her computer and flinched as the bright light from her screen assaulted her delicate eyes. She looked up at Turnbull. "Please could you get me a coffee?" she asked him. "Black and strong."

"Francesca, while we appreciate your offer of help," began Fraser, "it is a little late and you do seem to be rather…er, tired."

"I'll be fine," replied Francesca dismissively. "I want to help."

As night turned into the early hours of the morning, Fraser, Ray, Frankie, Francesca and Turnbull searched through files, records and databases for any kind of clue that may lead them to Merrick.

Finally, Frankie hit on an idea. "Look at this!" she exclaimed. "Maybe it's just because I'm really, really tired now, but look at the names of Merrick's known victims."

She handed a sheet of paper from the FBI file to Ray. She'd read over the file so many times now she thought her mind might be playing tricks on her. Ray was so tired he couldn't even focus on the print so he handed it straight to Fraser.

"Which name am I looking at exactly?" asked the Mountie, tugging at his ear as he spoke.

"Third one down," replied Frankie. "Michaela Dunbar, died June 12th 1994." She paused, allowing Fraser to find it on the page. By each of the names of Merrick's victims was the date of their death and a very brief description of the circumstances surrounding their murder.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you want me to see," said Fraser apologetically.

"Just the name," explained Frankie. "Say her name a few times quickly, like a tongue twister."

"Oh, like Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers?" smiled Turnbull, excitedly. "I held the record in my Scout troupe for repeating the entire rhyme one hundred times without error in less than a minute."

Ray looked at him and shook his head. _Was this guy really a cop? _Thought Ray, not for the first time. _ Maybe he got switched with a real Mountie during a training exercise and no one noticed?_

A smile spread across Fraser's face as he repeated the name a few times. "I see," he said when he'd finished. "It could be misheard – particularly by a non-native speaker – as Kuala Lumpur. That's very interesting. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Michaela Dunbar was killed in her own home on the south side," explained Frankie. "We know that murder locations often stand empty for years because no one wants to live where someone died. Do you think that house could be the one we're looking for?"

"Or sick freaks snap 'em up at the first opportunity," Ray pointed out. "But I like your thinking."

Fraser frowned. "You have absolutely no evidence upon which to base that theory, have you?"

"It's just a hunch," replied Frankie. "I don't know why, but I just got this feeling that this is the place. If Merrick ever said the name of his victim in front of Siti, she could quite easily have interpreted it as a name she recognised – the name of the capital city of her homeland."

"Cop instincts, Fraser," noted Ray with a grin. "I guess I did teach her somethin' this week after all."

"Instinct, Ray, by definition cannot be taught," Fraser pointed out.

Ray shook his head sadly. _I was kinda kidding, but he didn't have to knock me down like that in front of everyone, did he?_

Fraser suddenly realised the way that might have sounded. He could have kicked himself in the head, to borrow one of his partner's favourite expressions. "Ray, I'm sorry," he said in a low voice. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's OK," shrugged Ray.

"No, it's not," replied Fraser. "I have no excuse, I…"

"Sleep deprivation?" suggested Frankie. She wasn't sure what had just gone on between her two new friends, but she felt really uncomfortable right now. For a brief moment she'd felt as though she was intruding on a deeply personal moment and she desperately wanted to get everyone to focus back onto the case.

"OK, listen; first thing in the morning we'll head over to that address and check it out," Ray promised.

"No, we should go now!" insisted Frankie. "Merrick was expecting a delivery of fake passports the other day so he's probably holding some new arrivals there right now. The way Siti described the conditions there sounded awful and now Stacey Walker isn't around to help out. We have to help these people, it's our duty."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7.

"This is the place." Ray pulled the GTO over to the side of the road a few houses down from the address. It looked like any other ordinary suburban street, with white picket fences and perfectly kempt lawns. Most of the houses were in darkness, but it was almost three in the morning now so that was to be expected. The only light came from the street lamps.

Fraser, Ray and Frankie got out of the car and crossed the street, staying in the shadows just in case anyone was watching. Dief took the opportunity to relieve himself against one of the lampposts. He figured this was going to be one of those situations where he'd need to be on high alert and a full bladder was distracting. So was a rumbling stomach, of course, but he'd have to put up with that for now.

They carefully peered into the front windows looking for any signs of life, but Frankie had been right; the house appeared not to have been lived in for a while. There was very little furniture inside and what there was had been covered with huge, white dust sheets. The bulky white shapes looked a little spooky in the dark and Frankie had to remind herself that she was exhausted and her mind was just playing tricks on her.

"Focus," she hissed under her breath.

Fraser turned to her; of course he'd heard her. "You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," she lied, trying to slow her breathing down. She looked at the blue front door and wondered if they would knock first, just burst their way in, or try to sneak in around the back. She knew Ray and Fraser had done this sort of thing a hundred times before, though, so she was going to follow their lead.

"Check your weapon," ordered Ray in a low voice. Frankie duly pulled her gun from its holster and performed the basic checks that they'd been taught at the Academy. "Now, listen up," continued Ray. "Don't do anything stupid. Stay close to me and, er, keep Fraser in your sight the whole time."

"Our primary mission is to rescue any hostages we may find inside," Fraser added, "but we don't know at this juncture if Merrick himself is in the premises, so stay alert. He is a dangerous man."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "If ya get a bad feeling…y'know, if ya feel something's wrong then get outta the house. Do not put yourself in danger. Got it?" Ray had tried to persuade her to stay behind with Francesca and Turnbull, but Frankie had made her feelings about that idea quite clear. So now she was here and Ray was determined to make sure she stayed safe.

"OK," nodded Frankie, but inside she knew that if Merrick did show up she would most definitely not leave Ray and Fraser alone with him. She wanted to be right there by Ray's side. She wanted to be the one to slap the handcuffs on Merrick's wrists and read him his rights. She had to make up for letting him slip through her fingers and allowing him to go on to kill Stacey Walker two days later. "What are you going to do if Merrick is in there?" She asked.

"We'll take him down," replied Ray. His voice sounded confident, but inside he was scared, just like he always was in these situations. Fear was good though; he'd learnt that a long time ago. _Fear keeps you on your toes. If you relax, even for just one second, you're dead._ He glanced at Fraser and he knew the same thoughts were running through his buddy's mind.

Ray looked back at Frankie. "Y'know you should be wearing a vest," he said, angry with himself for not thinking about it before they left the station.

"You're not wearing a vest and neither's Fraser," Frankie pointed out.

Ray didn't have an answer for her. Of course if he'd followed the correct protocol then they would both be wearing one. _Jeez, I suck so much at this Training Officer thing._

"Perhaps you should wait in the car?" suggested Fraser.

"No," she hissed. "I'm a cop, not a baby; I'm here to back you guys up. Now, are we going in or not?"

Fraser nodded solemnly. Lucky for Frankie they'd just missed Lieutenant Welsh on their way out, or he would most certainly have vetoed her plan to go with them.

"Let's check around back," whispered Ray. "I don't wanna make a big entrance."

"Agreed," said Fraser. "If Merrick is at home then the element of surprise will give us an advantage."

Frankie led the way and Ray couldn't help smiling at her bravery and determination. They found a side door but it was locked. Frankie started trying the windows. "This one's open!" she announced with a grin when she realised a small square window had been left ajar.

Ray had been trying to pick the lock on the door, but he stopped and went to join her and Fraser. "D'ya think you can get in there?" he asked her. It wasn't a very large window and Ray realised that even with his skinny frame he wouldn't be able to squeeze through.

Frankie nodded and Fraser gave her a leg-up.

"Ray," began Fraser as soon as Frankie was inside. "This may not be the most appropriate time, but I wanted to apologise for..."

"No need, buddy," Ray interrupted him with a wave of his hand. "It's forgotten already."

"But...but I...I should not have…" Fraser tried to continue, but Ray interrupted him again.

"Shot me down in front of my rookie?" he suggested.

Fraser hung his head in shame. "Precisely. I'm sorry, Ray. You should report my appalling behaviour to Inspector Thatcher."

Ray tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn't. He slapped Fraser affectionately on the back and the Mountie was stunned to see the huge grin on Ray's face. "I'm not gonna report you to the Ice Queen, you freak!"

"But I undermined your authority," insisted Fraser. "I really didn't mean to, but sometimes I can't help myself."

"I know ya can't," agreed Ray. "And I get it. Sometimes I do stuff that annoys the hell outta you, but do y'know something? I'd rather you told me to my face than pretend to be OK with it."

"Pretence is not my forte, Ray," Fraser pointed out.

Ray laughed; that was an understatement. "Even if you were the best liar in the world Fraser I'd want you to be straight with me. Got it? You're my best buddy and I trust ya with…well, with pretty much everything. The minute we start lying to each other, all that's gone."

"True enough," agreed Fraser.

"Look at Stacey Walker and her sister," said Ray.

Fraser nodded solemnly. Caitlin's world had been turned upside down once she realised she couldn't trust the sister she loved so much. He knew he would die inside if anything like that ever happened between himself and Ray. "Even so, Ray," he said. "I'm still sorry."

"Look, I already told ya; it's forgotten about, OK?" replied Ray. "Now what the hell is taking Frankie so long?"

Just as they both started to become concerned they heard the click of the back door opening and saw Frankie's grinning face. "Easy," she said. "I just had to find the key." She hoped the rest of the operation would be that simple, but she had a bad feeling that it wouldn't be.

Once they were inside the house, they had to be as quiet as they could. They had no idea where the girls were being held, or even if they were there at all. They crept around the house in the dark, listening at doors for any sound that might indicate signs of life. Very soon they'd searched the whole of the downstairs and met up with Fraser back where they'd started. Ray pointed up and Fraser nodded before heading for the stairs.

Fraser had one foot on the first step when Frankie suddenly grabbed at his tunic. She'd spotted a door under the staircase that they hadn't noticed before. She went over to it and tried the handle but it was locked. Suddenly Diefenbaker was at her side, nudging her hand out of the way and scratching at the door.

Fraser glanced urgently at Ray; they needed to get this door open quickly. Ray turned to Frankie. "Cover me," he said and without hesitating he and Fraser threw themselves against the door, bursting it open.

_So much for keeping quiet_, thought Frankie. _Cover me, _she repeated in her head. She'd always wanted someone to say that to her, but she wasn't sure how she was meant to do it in the spun round and all her senses were on alert as she did her best to keep a look out.

The open door revealed a small basement room. The first thing that hit them was the smell - a stale, repugnant smell that reminded Frankie of rotting cabbage leaves. The second thing that hit them was the heat.

They cautiously stepped through the door. Ray had half expected to be met by a group of hysterical young women, desperate to escape their imprisonment, but instead they were met with an eerie silence.

The room was poorly lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling and at first Frankie couldn't see anything, or anyone, in the basement, but then she heard a voice. It was a quiet female voice, but Frankie didn't understand the words she heard and she glanced at Fraser for enlightenment.

Fraser slowly walked down the stairs with Ray and Frankie close behind him. "Hello," he said. "We're the Police and we're here to help you."

"Do you think Merrick is down here too?" whispered Frankie. It was a small room, but the single bulb was so dim that they couldn't see what they were walking into.

"The door was locked from the outside," Fraser pointed out.

"Oh...right." Frankie felt like an idiot for asking such a stupid question.

As they walked down into the light they were stunned to see around twenty young women crammed into the tiny space. They were huddled together in fear. Frankie couldn't believe the disgusting conditions these women were being kept in. Piles of dirty clothes were scattered all around and discarded food scraps lay rotting in the corner. _You wouldn't keep animals like this, _she thought. The smell was really overpowering and it was all she could do not to retch. "Police," she reiterated. "We've come to get you out of here." She paused and turned to Fraser. "Do you think they understand?" she asked him.

"I'm not sure," replied Fraser. He glanced at Ray. They needed to get them all out of this house quickly before Merrick discovered them, but these girls were terrified.

Ray slowly reached out his hand out to one of the young women and smiled. He hoped she might take his hand, but she just stared at him. Ray was getting really frustrated. He wanted to grab her hand and drag her to safety, but he didn't want her to think he was attacking her and start screaming.

"Come with us," Frankie u rged. "We can help you."

"Help?" It was another of the girls. Her accent was strong, but the word was clear enough. "Help!"

"Yes," Frankie smiled at her. "We can help you, but you have to come with us now." She tried Ray's technique of reaching out her hand, but the woman shook her head. Frankie looked desperately at Fraser. What were they going to do?

Then another of the young women stood up and gingerly slipped her hand into Frankie's. "Police?" she said nervously.

Frankie nodded and smiled. "Yes, Police," she said with a sigh of relief. "Come on." The girl looked no more than maybe eighteen years old and as Frankie led her towards the stairs another of the girls got to her feet and joined them.

"Ya got it!" exclaimed Ray. "Let's get outta here!" He took the hand of one of the other girls and this time she seemed happy to go with him. "Frankie, get 'em outside," Ray called to his young rookie. "We'll regroup down the street."

One by one the girls started to follow Frankie up the stairs, but the one who had refused to go with her backed away.

"Help!" She repeated again. Her voice sounded more desperate now.

Fraser realised that she wasn't just scared like the other girls, there was something else. "What's wrong?" he asked and then he repeated the question in Cantonese and Vietnamese, hoping that she would understand.

"Help Ming-La," said the woman. She knew a few words and phrases English, but in her panic she could only bring the odd word to mind. She grabbed Fraser's arm and lead him to the darkest corner of the room. "Ming-La," she repeated.

Fraser was shocked to see a young woman lying on the floor. She was shaking and beads of sweat were running down her face. It was really hot in the basement - there appeared to be no ventilation at all - but immediately Fraser could tell that this girl wasn't just overheated, she was running a fever. Fraser dropped to his knees beside her and placed a hand on her forehead to confirm his suspicions. "Frankie!" he called out. "Your flashlight, quickly," and Frankie ran to him as he checked the young woman's pulse.

"Sick," said the woman who had alerted him to Ming-La's plight.

"Yes," agreed Fraser with a nod. "Very sick."

Fraser took the torch from Frankie and clicked the switch, bathing Ming-La in light. The young woman was barely conscious, but was responsive enough to let out a groan and turn her head away from the beam.

Frankie was shocked at her appearance and watched with concern as Fraser concentrated the light on her face and neck. Fraser's initial fears were confirmed by the angry rash that was spreading over Ming-La's body; the deep coloured blotches screamed meningitis.

"Oh dear," he muttered. Fraser gave Frankie back her torch and urgently draped Min-La's arm around his neck, scooping her up into his arms.

"Ray, this young lady needs urgent medical attention," he said as he carried her towards the stairs.

Ray immediately realised from the tone of his voice that the situation was very serious . "Take the car," he said, tossing his keys to his partner. Fraser nodded an acknowledgement and ran up the stairs with Ming-La.

"Let's get these people outta here now," said Ray and he and Frankie hurried the other girls up the stairs and out of the house. Despite Frankie's attempts to keep everyone quiet, there was a lot of chatter which, coupled with the amount of clattering and banging that occurred as they all filed out of the door, convinced Ray that Merrick was not in the house after all.

The group ran out onto the street. "We passed a church on the corner," said Frankie. "They can hide out there while we go back to the house."

"We're not going back to the house!" exclaimed Ray.

"But we need evidence to tie all of this to Merrick," Frankie pointed out as they hurried along the street. "Everything we have so far is circumstantial."

Ray sighed as they arrived at the church; Frankie was right of course. "OK, but you should stay here with the girls. I'll head back and, er, see what I can find."

"I'm not staying here, I'm coming with you," Frankie complained as they pushed open the old wooden door of the church and ushered everyone inside.

Ray was tired and agitated and, unfortunately for Frankie, his patience finally snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. "No! You're gonna listen to me this time, Officer," he said through gritted teeth. "Just for once do what I tell you. I'm…I'm giving you an order. Got it? Stay here and watch these people; they're material witnesses and we don't wanna lose them. Do you understand me?"

Frankie was stunned into silence.

"Do you understand me?" repeated Ray, raising his voice slightly.

"Yes, Sir," replied Frankie quietly. She stood frozen to the spot as Ray walked out of the church.

Outside Ray started to walk back towards the house, but he had only gone a few feet before he stopped and looked back towards the church. He hated having to pull rank like that, but Frankie needed to learn or she was going to get herself killed. Discipline was a huge part of being a cop; you had to obey orders, you had to respect your senior officers. Surely they still taught that at the Academy? Frankie was blatantly ignoring everything she'd learnt and instead was rushing into situations without stopping to think about the consequences.

Suddenly a thought hit Ray and he wondered why it had taken his so long to realise it. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a slow breath.

_Who the heck does she remind you of, Kowalski, you moron? _

Ray had burst out of the Academy full of energy and ready for anything. He'd driven his superiors crazy by doing things his own way, risking his life unnecessarily and generally disobeying orders. Somehow things always seemed to work out right in the end though and so he just carried on. Then he'd worked on his first big homicide case – the Botrelle case – and that was the first time he'd realised that his badge did not make him invincible after all. Someone had killed a cop and it had freaked him out.

_If I'd known back then what had been going on with Sam Franklin and how my screw-up put Beth Botrelle on Death Row I would have quit being a cop right there and then. I don't want Frankie to have to go through what I did…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car screeching to a halt. Ray threw himself behind a tree and turned just in time to see Frankie running out of the church, keeping herself in the shadows.

Ray threw his hands in the air in despair.

"Is that Fraser back already?" she asked.

"Not drivin' that fast," replied Ray. "And I told you to stay inside," he hissed.

"I heard the noise," she replied. "I wanted to make sure you were OK. I'm sorry I made you mad at me again," she added.

Ray couldn't stay angry with her. "We'll talk about it later," he said with half a smile.

They turned their attentions back to the car. It had pulled up onto the driveway of the house now and a man got out and went in through the front door.

"Oh my god, it's him!" exclaimed Frankie, as quietly as she could. "It's Merrick. Call for back-up!" And she started to run along the street.

"Frankie!" Ray called after her as he ran to keep up with her. "What are you doing? It's too dangerous!"

"C'mon, we can't wait," she replied, slowing her pace so she could talk. "As soon as he realises the girls are gone he'll figure we're onto him and he'll be out of here and out of Chicago before we know it. He's been on the run from the FBI for four years, Ray. He's an expert at evading capture. They'll never find him and he'll get away with murdering Stacey Walker and everything else he's done. We can't let that happen, we just cant."

Ray was stunned at her passionate speech. He had no come-back, nothing at all. She was right, they had no choice; they had to go after Merrick. He nodded silently and they ran back to the house.

The back door was still open and Ray and Frankie went inside. They were both breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping around their bodies. Suddenly they heard shouting.

Frankie pointed down the hall to the basement and Ray nodded; Merrick had found the basement empty and he was not happy.

Frankie checked her gun again, knowing that there was a very strong possibility that in the next few minutes she would have to use it. _Am I ready? _She asked herself. _Am I ready to shoot someone? _But now was not the time for doubt. She was ready.

"Make a lot of noise," Ray whispered to Frankie. "We want him to think there's more of us out here."

Frankie nodded and suddenly they were both shouting as loud as they could. "Chicago PD, come out with your hands up!" Ray yelled and he fired two warning shots at the ceiling.

"We've got you surrounded!" Frankie shouted, banging on the wall with her fists.

"OK, OK!" came a voice. "I'm coming out, don't shoot."

Frankie glanced at Ray; this was too easy. It didn't feel right at all. Her instincts were shouting all sorts of warnings at her and she could tell from Ray's expression that his were doing the same. She and Ray aimed their guns at the door and waited.

After what felt like forever to Frankie, John Harrison Merrick appeared at the doorway. He looked from Ray to Frankie. "You!" he said, with a tiny laugh. "I should have dealt with you the other day."

Frankie wasn't going to let him frighten her. She and Ray were in control now, not Merrick. "Turn around and put your hands on your head," she ordered and, to her surprise, he complied.

Frankie kept her gun trained on Merrick as Ray stepped forward, re-holstering his weapon as he did so. He took one of Merrick's hands, pulled it down behind the man's back and snapped his handcuffs over his wrist.

Then he went to take Merrick's other hand, but suddenly, before either Ray or Frankie had time to react, the man sidestepped him, twisted around and punched Ray in the face before pushing him down the stairs.

"Ray!" screamed Frankie. _What the hell just happened?_

Then before she knew it she was tumbling down the stairs too. She landed in a heap on top of Ray. He didn't move. _Oh god, no…please don't be dead._

"So, I've bagged myself two cops." It was Merrick's voice, cold and calculating and Frankie looked up to see him standing over them with her own gun in his hand. She was terrified. _Why doesn't he just shoot me? _ Her head was pounding. She had to get her thoughts together.

"Get up," spat Merrick.

Frankie slowly got to her feet. She felt like she was going to vomit, but she wasn't going to show her vulnerability in front of this monster.

As she moved she was relieved to hear a groan from Ray. So he wasn't dead…yet. She tried to come up with a plan. There had to be a way to get out of this alive, she just had to think.

"So, what am I gonna do with two cops," pondered Merrick, his face twisting into an evil grin.

"You could let us go," suggested Frankie, bravely.

Merrick laughed. "Funny," he said. "You're a comedian." Then his face became serious. "I could shoot you with this nice cop gun you've so kindly provided me with. Why don't I do that?"

"Why don't you?" asked Frankie, her voice shaking with fear.

Merrick shook his head. "Because that would be boring!" he exclaimed. "I've never been one for guns anyway."

Frankie glanced at Ray; he seemed to be coming around. Merrick had noticed it too. "Hi," he said with a smarmy smile. "Nice of you to join us; I was just chatting with the kid here."

"She's not a kid, she's a cop," said Ray and Frankie couldn't help a small smile at his words.

Ray rubbed the back of his head as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He was having trouble focussing, but he could see enough to know he and Frankie were in big trouble.

Ray felt around in the dim light for his gun, but couldn't find it. He figured it had spun off into one of the dark corners of the basement. He tried to stand, but as he put weight on his leg, it buckled beneath him and the most intense pain he'd ever felt shot through him. "Jeez!" he exclaimed. _Greatness, I think it's busted._ He glanced at Frankie and tried not to let her know how much it hurt, or how scared he was.

"OK, I really don't need the both of you," announced Merrick. He turned to Ray. "Seeing as you look like shit right now, I'm gonna do you a big favour and put you out of your misery, like a dog."

He aimed Frankie's gun at Ray's head. Ray tried to move, but he just couldn't. _This is it, I'm dead. This is not how it's supposed to end…_

_Point blank range, _Frankie realised. She knew she had a split second to act, or it would be too late for Ray. Somehow, just as Merrick pulled the trigger Frankie found some inner strength and jumped on him, knocking him off his feet.

Ray braced himself for the inevitable, but instead of the instant death he was expecting, he felt a new burning pain in his leg. He reached down and felt the warmth of fresh blood seeping through the thick denim of his jeans. _Greatness! _ _He shot my busted leg!_

Ray slumped back down and tried desperately not to pass out. _This is all wrong. The bastard's gonna kill Frankie and there's not one goddam thing I can do about it._

Merrick struggled for a moment with Frankie, but his size and strength quickly won out and before she knew it, he had Frankie in a head-lock. "You think you can take me down, do you?" He growled at her, pressing his face close to hers. "Do you? Cop?"

Frankie wanted to scream, but she couldn't do anything. She tried to breathe, but she was gasping for air, fear preventing her from doing anything else.

Then unexpectedly he released his grip and she stumbled to the floor on her hands and knees. She turned to look back at Merrick, wondering what he was going to do to her. He could do anything he wanted, she realised. She bit hard on her lip, determined not to let any tears escape; she was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Merrick was enjoying this; every minute of it. "Hey, you," he said to Ray. "I'm actually glad I didn't kill you after all. I want you to see this." He laughed again.

Ray desperately tried to move. He couldn't just lie there and let this sick bastard do whatever he was going to do to Frankie. "Leave…her…alone…" he said.

Merrick wasn't listening. "Like I said, I'm not big on guns," he said. "Too messy."

Frankie suddenly realised what he had planned. Merrick had strangled at least ten people that they knew of and now she was going to be next. She swallowed hard. There had to be a way out of this, surely. Their back-up would be here any minute…Ray did call for back-up, didn't he? Frankie couldn't actually recall him doing it now. Oh god…

Merrick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a length of thin rope.

"No!" whimpered Frankie. "Please." She could have kicked herself as that last word left her lips; she didn't want to beg for her life, but right now the only part of her that was functioning normally was her survival instinct.

A huge, sick smile spread across Merrick's face. "Sorry, kid," he said. "This is my thing, OK. I'm good at this. It won't take long." He dropped to his knees behind Frankie and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. Then he wrapped the rope around her neck twice and pulled it tight.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8.

Fraser brought the GTO to a halt outside the house. He felt guilty about leaving Ming-La alone at the hospital, but he had to get back to Ray and Frankie as soon as he could and he knew the young woman was in good hands. She had been taken straight to the ICU and would be pumped full of antibiotics and monitored closely over the next few critical hours; he just hoped they'd found her in time.

Just as Fraser got out of the car he heard a gunshot coming from inside the house. He stopped dead in his tracks. _That was Frankie's gun, _he realised. With a glance at Dief he raced off at top speed with the animal at his side. He didn't want to waste time going round the back so instead he kicked in the front door. Dief ran ahead and straight down to the basement with the Mountie following close behind.

Fraser was terrified at what he might find. If Frankie had discharged her weapon, where was Ray? _I should never have left them…_

His eyes had to adjust quickly to the dim light in the basement and the first thing he saw was Ray sprawled on the floor on his back with Frankie's gun in his hand. _So it was Ray who fired the gun…_

Then he saw the motionless body of John Harrison Merrick slumped across some boxes.

"Ray, Ray, RAY!" Fraser yelled as he crouched beside his partner. He pressed two fingers to Ray's neck and allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief when he felt a pulse, but then he noticed the bullet wound.

"Hold on, Ray," he said and spun around looking for something to use a bandage, but then a noise drew his attention. It was Frankie. She was lying on her side, making a rasping noise with every breath. "Frankie!" he exclaimed, the relief that she was still alive too felt like a knot untying itself from his stomach, although the noise she was making did not sound good. He quickly grabbed what looked like a skirt from a pile of clothes in the corner and tore it in half, folding one half into a thick pad and using the other half to tie it tightly around the wound in Ray's leg.

"Son, the rookie needs you."

Fraser looked up and saw the ghost of his father standing over Frankie. He scrambled across the floor to help her. "Is he dead?" he asked, nodding over towards Merrick.

"Oh there's no doubt about it," replied Bob Fraser.

"Frankie, it's alright," said Fraser, gently rolling her onto her back. The length of rope was still around her neck, although she had been able to loosen it slightly. Fraser quickly pulled it over her head. "Just breathe slowly," he instructed.

"Where were you while all this was going on?" asked Bob, surveying the scene. "You left your partner and the rookie in the hands of a dangerous criminal. What were you thinking?"

Fraser couldn't believe what his father was saying. "Are you suggesting this is my fault?" he asked incredulously.

Bob shrugged.

"I was delivering a seriously ill woman into the hands of the only people who have any chance of saving her life," retorted Fraser. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly. _There's no ghost, ghosts are not real; this is just my guilty conscience talking…_

When he opened his eyes, Bob had gone.

Frankie had not slowed her breathing down at all; in fact she was starting to hyperventilate.

"Frankie, slowly," urged Fraser. "In through your nose and out through your mouth."

"Ray…" she choked out, the effort of trying to talk making her cough and splutter.

"He's alright," Fraser reassured her, although by 'alright' Fraser only meant 'alive'. "Merrick's dead," he added. "You're safe."

"Can't…breathe…" choked Frankie.

Frankie had struggled to the very end, fighting with everything she had as Merrick had attempted to squeeze the last drop of life from her, but it had been no use, she was too weak to fight him off. In those last desperate seconds she'd made her peace and accepted her fate…but then she'd heard the sound she would never forget; the gunshot. Somehow Ray had dragged himself a few feet across the floor and picked up Frankie's gun. Frankie remembered him shouting a single warning, but Merrick had ignored him so he'd had no choice but to fire.

There were red, raw marks around her neck where the rope had been and judging by the amount of pressure that had been exerted, Fraser realised that Frankie had been just seconds from death. He gently examined her throat with his fingertips and was horrified when he realised the extent of her internal injuries.

"You're going to be fine," he said. He rolled up a sweatshirt that was lying on the floor and gently placed it under her head and neck for support. "There's some damage to your throat, I know you feel like you can't breathe, but your airway is clear enough. Just relax. I'm right here." He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it tightly.

Fraser looked back over his shoulder to see Ray opening his eyes. "Frankie…" was the first word out of the detective's mouth.

"She's here, she's alright," replied Fraser.

"Thank god," mumbled Ray.

"Where's your phone?" asked Fraser.

"Dunno," said Ray, he voice cracking with the pain. "I lost it; my gun too."

"Diefenbaker, fetch," ordered Fraser.

The disgusting smell in the basement was overpowering and it took a moment for Dief to pick up the scent, but it didn't take the wolf long to locate the missing items. Fraser gratefully grabbed the phone from his teeth and dialled 911.

xXxXxXx

"Hey, watch it, Fraser; that's my good leg!" Ray was not happy. He was extra grouchy for having spent two days in hospital anyway, but Fraser had just manoeuvred his wheelchair into a doorframe.

"I'm terribly sorry, Ray," replied Fraser. "I thought this would be like driving a snowmobile."

Ray shook his head. He hadn't taken his painkillers this morning – against medical advice - and he was beginning to regret it. They'd made him feel weird yesterday so he figured he could go without, but he was quickly realising that having a broken leg with a bullet wound in it was quite painful. "Er, Fraser…" he began, but he didn't have to say anything else.

Immediately, Fraser was standing in front of him with a paper cup of water in one hand and a tiny plastic pot in the other. "Was this what you wanted?" he asked.

Ray grinned. "Yeah," he admitted and dutifully swallowed the pills.

"I noticed you'd left them by your bedside," Fraser explained. "Speaking from experience I would advise that you take your meds, at least for the first few days."

Ray nodded. "Thanks, buddy. Let's go in."

Fraser pushed open the door to Frankie's hospital room with one hand and Ray wheeled himself in. His broken leg was in a heavy cast and it stuck out straight ahead of him. He had to admit that it was more difficult to avoid obstacles than he'd realised.

His own problems were soon forgotten, though, as soon as he saw Frankie. _Although she looks a whole lot better than she did yesterday, _he thought with a smile.

"Hi," smiled Fraser. He too was relieved to see the huge improvement in her condition. She had been taken off the ventilator this morning and was now breathing on her own. A large white dressing on her neck hid the physical scars of her surgery. The mental scars would take longer to heal.

"Hi," replied Frankie. Her voice was very croaky and came out more like a whisper.

"We passed your parents in the hall," Fraser told her.

"I sent them home," Frankie explained. "Mom was driving me crazy."

Ray laughed. His parents had threatened to drive back from Wichita, or wherever the heck they were this time, when Fraser had called them yesterday to tell them what had happened. Ray had never been more grateful for Fraser's ability to talk anyone out of doing anything by telling them an Inuit story. How exactly the story about an elk and a rabbit had persuaded his folks that they didn't need to come he wasn't sure, but all that mattered was that it had worked.

"Hey, Ming-La is gonna be OK," said Ray. "And the docs gave the other girls the all clear."

"That's great," said Frankie. Her voice was getting weaker with every word she spoke.

"Should you be talking so much?" Fraser frowned, picking up the chart from the end of her bed and scanning down the doctor's barely legible notes.

"I'm fine," replied Frankie, forcing a smile onto her face. Actually she did feel OK today, she was glad to be alive, even though every breath was painful. "I'm glad you're here," she said and this time her smile was genuine. She was having some difficulty reconciling what had happened and she felt as if Ray and Fraser were the only two people in the world who understood; her parents certainly didn't.

Although she was pleased that Merrick couldn't hurt anyone any more, she couldn't help going over in her mind what could have happened in that basement. Ray could be dead and so could she. If only she hadn't insisted they returned to the house after they'd rescued the girls. If only…_but then Merrick would still be out there and would definitely have gone on to kill again._ This was one of Fraser's parallel universe scenarios again, she realised, but she couldn't help it.

Ray frowned at her. He knew that look; he knew what she was going through. "Listen," he said and his voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "When you get outta here, I want you to, y'know, talk to someone, OK."

"Like a shrink?" asked Frankie, tears starting to well in her eyes. _Am I really coping that badly?_

"Or a friend," suggested Ray, glancing at Fraser with half a smile. He hated shrinks, especially the morons the Chicago PD provided, but talking to Fraser – his best friend – was better than any therapy he'd ever had. Frankie would work through this, he knew she would, but it would take time. "Look, I know you don't think it right now, but, er, what you did back at that house was…"

"Stupid, I know," Frankie interrupted him.

"I was gonna say brave," said Ray.

Frankie closed her eyes. "No, that's not true," she whispered. She thought Ray was only saying it to make her feel better and she didn't need that.

Ray glanced at Fraser. He was concerned about her and so was his buddy. They'd already agreed to keep a close eye on her. She was a good cop and they didn't want this incident so early in her career to affect that.

"Frankie, Ray's right," Fraser noted. He sat himself down carefully on the bed. "Promise me you'll take his advice."

Frankie thought for a moment. She tried to imagine how many similar situations Ray and Fraser had been through over the years. Ray had told her a few stories about their recent escapades and although he'd made light of the number of times their lives had been in danger, Frankie had known just by looking into his eyes that each and every one had left its mark. _Well if they can do it then so can I. _ She closed her eyes for a moment. "I promise," she whispered.

She opened her eyes again and smiled. Fraser saw a change in her, her inner strength shone through and at that moment he knew she would be OK.

"How's the leg?" Frankie asked Ray.

"I'm just glad he shot the broken one," he noted dryly. "At least I can still hop."

Frankie laughed, but her laughter soon turned into a choking cough.

"Sorry," said Ray.

"You alright?" asked Fraser and Frankie nodded. "You should probably get some rest. We'll leave you alone."

"Wait," whispered Frankie. "Ray, I need to thank you for…y'know…for saving my life."

"You saved mine first," said Ray with a shrug, remembering how he'd been staring down the barrel of a gun himself. "Figured I owed ya," he added. He wheeled his chair over to her bedside and spun himself around so he could reach out and wrap her hand in his. "Besides," he added with a glance a Fraser. "That's what partners are for."

xXxXxX

"Desk duty sucks." Frankie leaned back in the chair and sighed. She tore another page from her notebook, screwed it into a ball and threw it in the bin under Ray's desk which was already overflowing with her efforts. It had been almost two weeks since she'd been discharged from hospital and Frankie and Ray were both finally back at work, but signed off active duty for now.

"Nice shot," noted Ray. "And I'm with ya on the whole desk duty thing. I think I'm gonna kiss the doc when he takes this cast off." The Two Seven was buzzing with activity, but right now it felt like a prison to Ray.

Frankie laughed. "I can just see you doing that," she said. "I guess there's one good thing about not being medically fit for duty yet," she added with a smile. "I get to hang around here with you guys for a couple more weeks."

Ray nodded. "I think we're actually gonna miss you when you're gone," he said, trying not to sound too sincere.

"Really?" she asked, cheekily poking her tongue out at him. Frankie was going to miss them all too. She would be working with a real Training Officer soon. Her first week as a cop had been the most eventful any rookie had ever had; working traffic duty was going to suck more than being tied to this desk, she thought.

"If you ever need anything, y'know where we are, right?" added Ray. This time he was being sincere.

Frankie nodded and bit her lip, determined not to get emotional. "You know the worst thing," she said.

"That I got seriously injured?" quipped Ray with a straight face.

"Oh, like I didn't?" replied Frankie indignantly. "I had to have surgery to reconstruct the inside of my throat, Ray!"

"Yeah and I have serious muscle and nerve damage," replied Ray.

"That's minor muscle and nerve damage," came Francesca's voice. She had just arrived at her desk with Constable Turnbull in tow. "That's what it said in your file."

"Thanks, Frannie," Ray sneered at her.

Frankie laughed. "No, the worst thing is I didn't even get to arrest anyone yet," she explained.

"Plenty of time for that," replied Ray. "You just wait; those guys who park in front of fire hydrants can play dirty with the best of them."

Frankie grinned at him; she was grateful for Ray for cheering her up, but then her face became serious again. She glanced towards Lieutenant Welsh's office. "What is Fraser doing in there that's taking so long?" she asked nervously.

"I guess they're still talking about you," said Ray.

"Oh dear," said Frankie, mimicking one of Fraser's favourite expressions. "The Lieutenant has read the reports hasn't he…I'm in big trouble now."

Ray shook his head. "Nah," he replied, grabbing his crutches and pushing himself up off the chair. "Welsh is cool; he'll be fine." Truth was he wasn't sure exactly how Welsh would react and the fact that Fraser had been in his office with the door shut for so long was making him even more nervous. If anyone deserved to be disciplined it was him, not Frankie. He had been responsible for her and any mistakes she'd made were entirely down to his failure as Training Officer. That's how he saw it anyway.

Ray hobbled down to the other end of the squad room and back again on his crutches. He needed to be active. Sitting around doing nothing but watch TV for the last two weeks had been driving him crazy and Fraser had been driving him crazier by cooking for him every night. According to his buddy, take-outs did not help the body's healing process.

"What are you doing?" Francesca asked him.

"I'm playing chess, Frannie," replied Ray sarcastically. "What does it look like? I'm pacing, is that OK with you?" Ray liked to pace, it helped him think.

"You can't pace on those things," she sneered.

"Well thank you so much for pointin' that out," snapped Ray. "What are you doin' here anyway? I thought it was your day off."

"Well remembered, bro," she replied in surprise. "If you must know, Turnbull has to make an important phonecall to Italy today and he's a little nervous so I said he could use the phone in Harding's office and I offered to be there to help out if he needs me."

"I…I thought you said you'd cleared it with your superior officers?" said Turnbull, nervously. "If it's a problem we can return to the Consulate."

"But you told me you can't do it with Inspector Finicky Pants around. Look, don't worry," Frannie tried to reassure him. "Harding won't mind."

Constable Turnbull opened and closed his mouth but no words came out. As an officer of the RCMP, he objected strongly to Francesca insulting his superior officer…but the name was strikingly accurate.

The main door swung open and Assistant States Attorney Stella Kowalski walked in carrying a manila envelope. "Ray, here's that paperwork you wanted," she said. "The warrants are all in there. Don't screw this up." She slapped the envelope down on Ray's desk and left.

"Thanks, Stell. Great to see you too," Ray called after her. "I'm doing OK, in case you're interested. Leg's healing…yknow, after gettin' it busted and shot," he added. "Thanks for askin'."

Frankie had no idea who Stella was, but clearly she had history with Ray. For a moment she wasn't sure what Ray was going to do. He almost looked like he was going to cry and she had to resist the urge to give him a hug. She looked to Francesca for an explanation, but the Civilian Aid's expression made her realise that it was a conversation for another day.

Just then the door to the Lieutenant's office opened and Welsh stuck his head out. "Mallion, Vecchio, in my office, now," he snapped.

"Excuse me, Harding," Francesca called out and Welsh appeared in the doorway again, scowling at her. "Er, when you've finished, would it be OK if Constable Turnbull and I used your office for a little while?"

"No," snapped Welsh, almost before she'd finished the sentence. "Find somewhere else to conduct your love life, Miss Vecchio," and he slammed the door.

Frankie and Ray looked at each other. This was not going to be pretty. Welsh sounded much angrier than Frankie thought he would. They nervously headed in to join Fraser.

Turnbull, meanwhile, had turned a shade of red to rival that of his tunic.

"Relax," Francesca said dismissively. "We can use the phone on my desk. Now let's go over the greeting one more time."

In the office, Frankie tried to catch Fraser's eye as she waited for Welsh to start yelling at her, but the Mountie was staring straight ahead giving nothing away.

Ray was trying to stay calm. He knew Fraser could be a stickler for the rules and regulations and he'd probably pointed out every single code violation to Welsh not because he wanted to get Frankie or Ray into trouble, but because he just couldn't help himself.

"Sir, can I just say…" Ray began, attempting some damage limitation.

"Shut up, Vecchio," replied Welsh. He looked up from his desk. Frankie was standing at attention. "Officer Mallion," he began. "I've been reading over the reports made by yourself, Detective Vecchio here and Constable Fraser. Of course the Constable was under no obligation to submit a report to me, but he seems compelled to do these things and I've learnt over the years that it's best to let him get on with it." Welsh paused. "So, you were on active duty for a week. How do you think it went?" he asked her eventually.

"Sir?" Frankie wasn't sure how she was meant to answer that.

"Let me tell you what I think, Mallion," said Welsh. "I've seen a lot of rookies come through here - some went on to make good cops and some didn't – but I've never seen a rookie like you."

"Um, er…" Frankie didn't know if that comment was meant a compliment, or not. She assumed not.

"You, Mallion, are a hot head," Welsh continued. "You're impetuous, you rush headlong into situations without weighing up the consequences of your actions…shall I go on?"

"No, Sir," Frankie answered hanging her head.

"Can I say something?" asked Ray. "Frankie risked her life to save…"

"You'll get your turn, Vecchio," Welsh interrupted him. He rummaged through the papers on his desk and until he found the page he was looking for. "This arrived here yesterday," he explained. "It's a letter. It's from a Mrs Gina Burnett."

Frankie glanced at Ray in surprise. Gina was the lady she'd talked down from the balcony on her second day, the one who'd taken the baby – why had she written to Welsh?

Ray looked to Fraser and saw just the tiniest hint of a smile on his buddy's face.

"You can read it yourself later," said Welsh, "but I wanted to read this paragraph to you, if I may?"

Frankie nodded nervously.

"If it wasn't for Officer Mallion I would have jumped and killed an innocent child," Welsh began quoting from the letter. "She showed me more compassion than anyone has done for a long time. I know she was only doing her job, but I really believe that she cared about what happened to me."

Frankie was stunned. She had assumed Mrs Burnett had written a letter of complaint. "I…I did care about what happened to her," she said.

"I know," replied Welsh. "And there's my problem, Mallion. This is the kind of thing that proves to me that, despite everything, you're going to make a great cop..." Finally the gruff Lieutenant cracked a smile, "…one that I'd be proud to have as a member of my department and that's why I've recommended you for the Fast Track to Detective programme."

Frankie didn't say anything for a moment. She couldn't speak. She'd heard about the Fast Track programme but she never thought she'd get on it. Eventually she managed to whisper, "Thank you, Sir, but I don't…"

Fraser interrupted her before she could start putting herself down. "Congratulations," he beamed and shook her hand vigorously.

"Of course you'll still have to do your six month rotation, but once that's over you'll be back here at the Two Seven," Welsh explained. "I think spending some time with a real TO will do you good."

"Hardy har har," sneered Ray. "Er, Sir," he added.

"I'm being serious," insisted Welsh. "You still have a lot to learn, Mallion. There's a line that a cop knows not to cross and you need to figure out where that is. Get some experience under your belt, learn everything you can from the guys that have been doing this a long time and then I don't care if go right up to the line like Vecchio here, you don't cross it. That's how cops get themselves killed, understand?"

"Yes, Sir," insisted Frankie.

"These two," he waved his hand at Ray and Fraser, "test my patience on a daily basis, but I trust them to do the right thing. Apparently they know what they're doing. Every time Fraser here jumps out of a window, every time Vecchio goes against my orders, I know they've weighed up the risks first, right gentlemen?" He looked at them for confirmation.

Ray and Fraser glanced at each other and thought it best not to say anything. Instead they both nodded profusely. They weren't even sure if Welsh himself believed what he was saying about them. Frankie stifled a giggle.

"You're braver and smarter and more compassionate than a lot of the idiots out there, Mallion," continued Welsh. "Don't waste this opportunity."

"I won't," she promised. "But I…just, I…I don't think I did anything special," said Frankie. She found it really hard to take praise and she could feel her face flushing with embarrassment.

"Anyone who throws themselves at an armed and dangerous scumbag to save their partner's life is special in my books," said Welsh. "Now get out of here."

"Did you know about this?" Ray asked Fraser as they walked out of the Lieutenant's office.

"Only since yesterday," replied Fraser. "Lieutenant Welsh asked me to write a statement in support of his recommendation. I'm terribly sorry, Ray, but the Lieutenant specifically ordered me to keep it under my hat, as it were."

"Lucky you've got a big hat," grinned Ray. He looked at Frankie who had the biggest smile on her face. "Congratulations," he said, pulling her into a hug. "I'm proud of ya."

"Congratulations, Detective Mallion," added Fraser with a smile, patting her affectionately on the back.

"Hey, not yet," replied Frankie, shaking her head. "I've still got six months to screw up traffic duty and arresting bums and crackheads." Suddenly she felt a little overwhelmed by the situation. There were so many people that she didn't want to let down. The lecture Welsh had just given her was still echoing around her head. _ What if I fail? I can't fail. I can't disappoint them._

"Sshhh," hissed Francesca suddenly. "Turnbull is on the phone to Italy."

"I hope ya reversed the charges," noted Ray.

Fraser listened to Turnbull. He was very surprised by the improvement in his skills in Italian. _Spending all that time with Francesca must be paying off,_ he noted. _Rather him than me…_

Turnbull politely said goodbye to the Italian Deputy Assistant Ambassadorial Secretary and put the phone down with a sigh of relief.

"Oh I'm so proud of you!" squealed Francesca and she planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick mark.

"Well done, Turnbull," said Fraser. "It sounds like you have all the arrangements for the trade conference under control."

"Thank you, Sir," replied Turnbull. "I admit I came prepared with some notes, a few essential words and phrases, just in case my mind went blank in an emergency situation."

"An excellent idea," nodded Fraser.

Ray had hobbled over to Francesca's desk and he picked up Turnbull's handwritten notes. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you…" he read. "I'm sorry, I'm sure your wife is a wonderful person really…" he continued, trying to hide his smirk. "I'm sorry, that wasn't meant as a declaration of war… Jeez, Turnbull!"

Before the young Mountie had time to explain, the door opened and Caitlin Walker appeared.

"Hi," smiled Frankie and crossed to Caitlin, giving her a hug.

"Hi," replied Caitlin. "The Desk Sargent said I could come straight up. How are you guys?"

"We're good," replied Ray. "How are you holding up?"

"OK," replied Caitlin cautiously. "I have something to show you," she explained and she pulled out a photograph from her bag. "It's the dancing club in Las Vegas that Stacey's uncle owns."

"That was true?" Frankie was very surprised to hear that. "I figured it was one of her lies for sure."

"No, it was true. The club exists," explained Caitlin. "Stacey's Mom told me."

"So why was she showing around a fake picture?" asked Ray.

"Stacey's Mom said this is the only photo she has of the club," explained Caitlin. "My new therapist thinks Stacey was so insecure that even when she was telling the truth she had to back it up with something, even if that something was fake, I guess. She couldn't find a real photo so she used that other one."

"She believed that no one would take her at her word," Fraser observed.

"That's kinda sad," noted Frankie.

"I've been talking to Stacey's Mom a lot," continued Caitlin. "She was really upset when she realised all that stuff Stacey said about me wasn't true. We've been getting on great, actually. We've kinda figured out why my sister was so insecure. It was our Dad. When Stacey was a kid, he would sometimes disappear for days, or even weeks at a time. Janetta – that's Stacey's Mom - said she knew he was seeing other women, but she loved him and he always came home eventually so she put up with it."

"I imagine that was very hard for Stacey," said Fraser.

"My therapist says kids often create stories in their heads to deal with situations they don't understand," said Caitlin. "Like a fantasy world where she could feel safe and secure. It all adds up. I guess she couldn't break the habit, even as an adult."

"What's it like," asked Frankie, gingerly. "Talking to a therapist, I mean."

"It's OK," replied Caitlin with a smile. "This has been the hardest few weeks of my life and I think I might have gone crazy if I'd bottled it all up. My sister's dead and I can't help thinking that I failed her somehow. My therapist says maybe I was a little overbearing sometimes, but she was the one with the problems. It wasn't my fault. That's what my therapist taught me."

"I think your therapist is very wise," noted Fraser. "You should try not to blame yourself for what happened. She made her own choices."

Caitlin nodded. "I thought I was doing everything I could for her, but I guess I was doing it all wrong. She wasn't the person I thought she was and that's not easy to make sense of, but I'm getting there slowly."

Frankie gave Caitlin another warm hug. She could see how seeing a therapist was helping her come to terms with her sister's death.

_Maybe I should try it? I might only need to go a couple times. I haven't been through what Caitlin has, I just get the occasional nightmare…_

Frankie hadn't been able to talk to anyone about that night in the basement with Merrick yet and although it wasn't affecting her at all during the day, some nights she had woken up screaming with the sensation of something tight around her neck. She knew she had to sort it out now so she could concentrate on her career. "Could I take their number?" she asked quietly. She glanced at Fraser and he nodded and smiled encouragingly.

"Sure," said Caitlin and scribbled the number on a piece of paper. "Well I'd better go," she said, handing the number to Frankie. "I've got to pack."

"Are you leaving town?" asked Fraser.

"For a while," replied Caitlin. "I'm going away with my Mom and Stacey's Mom. They started talking last week and now they get on like they're long lost sisters or something."

The poignancy of that statement was not lost on Fraser, Ray or Frankie.

"You see Stacey and I made a list," Caitlin explained. "A list of places in the world we wanted to see. Australia, Egypt, Japan…we had all these plans, but…" she trailed off and took a moment to compose herself. "Well, I figured I should go anyway, kind of in memory of my sister," she finally continued, her voice a little quieter now. "When I suggested to Mom that she came with me she said we should take Janetta too. It seemed appropriate, so we're leaving next week."

"Have a lovely time," smiled Frankie.

"I will," said Caitlin. "It's going to be hard without Stacey. I still love her you know - I always will - and I'm going to miss her forever." Her voice cracked and this time Caitlin couldn't help the tears that fell. She took a deep breath and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Thank you for everything you've done," she said quietly and then she turned and walked out of the squad room.

Frankie sat down and let out a slow breath. "Poor Caitlin," she said. "I guess she'll heal in time. I think she's forgiven her sister for the hurt she caused her, that's a good start."

Fraser nodded. "That must not have been easy for her," he said. "Truth and honesty between loved ones is vital to maintain trust. Once that trust is broken..." he trailed off as his mind wandered.

Frankie was concerned to see Fraser become suddenly distant. Then it hit her why. _Someone broke his trust once…broke his heart… _ She had come to realise that there was so much more to Constable Benton Fraser than blue eyes, broad shoulders and all that politeness. Ray was much easier to read and one day she hoped to know Fraser well enough to be able to break through his Mountie mask.

"I still can't believe we went through all of that and I didn't get to arrest anyone," she said with disappointment, forcing her mind back to the present.

A grin slowly spread over Ray's face. "I think I can fix that," he said, picking up the envelope Stella had left on his desk earlier. He handed it to Frankie.

Frankie had no idea what was inside and she carefully tore it open. "Irene Dubrovski?" she read in surprise.

"States Attorney's office has been building the case," explained Ray. "It's taken them this long to make it all stick. We didn't want to charge her with running a whorehouse without being able to, er, pin the sex trafficking charges on her too. So, have ya got your cuffs?"

"Ray, you and Frankie are restricted to desk duties," Fraser pointed out.

"In that case you can drive, buddy," grinned Ray. "Pitter patter, let's get at 'er." Ray grabbed his crutches and hobbled towards the door with Frankie at his side, her palms starting to sweat with excitement. She was really going to enjoy this.

"Francesca, please would you inform Lieutenant Welsh that Detective Vecchio and I have taken Officer Mallion to…er…" Fraser floundered.

"Don't worry, Frase," smiled Francesca. "I'll cover for you."

"Thank you kindly, Francesca," he said and raced after Ray and Frankie. "Constable Turnbull," he called out as he headed towards the door. "Please refrain from declaring war while we're gone."

A short time later, Ray and Fraser stood a little way back as Frankie slapped the handcuffs on Irene, reciting the Miranda rights perfectly and correctly listing all the charges she was being arrested for.

Fraser glanced at Ray. "Will you be putting yourself forward as a Training Officer again?" he asked.

Ray looked at Fraser in disbelief. "No, Fraser," he replied, with half a grin. "No I will not."

THE END.


End file.
